Saving Shard
by Maia's Pen
Summary: COMPLETE! In mere minutes Misty became both engaged and Team Rockets hostage. As Ash struggles to rescue his fiancée on the outside, a mysterious stranger fights to save her on the inside: a man who needs Misty’s help just as much as she needs his.
1. Prologue

Saving Shard

By Maia's Pen

Authors Note: At times this story will be violent, passionate, despairing and flooded with angst. But it is my hope that it will also make you smile or laugh. In a nutshell: this story will be emotional. **You have been warned**.

Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon or any of its characters . . . and it is probably a good thing for I sometimes subject them to nightmare-ish situations.

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Prologue

There was no suicide note. But, then again, a note wasn't really necessary. It was obvious that Gary Oak's death was not accidental.

Before plunging sixteen meters into a rock-infested river, Gary . . . did something. Something that _proved_ he intended to die: he removed all of his Pokeballs from his belt and knapsack. There, beneath a tree by the cliffs edge, Gary stacked his Pokeballs. He stacked them very neatly and with thought -- each of the six Pokeballs arranged in the order by which he had acquired its monster. Had he accidentally tumbled to his doom the balls would have tumbled with him. The Pokemon would have either perished or released themselves and saved him . . . neither a risk that Gary was willing to take. His actions spoke volumes beyond what a note ever could.

There were several theories about what happened to Gary after he jumped. The most popular: his body was immediately shred by the jagged rocks and his remains washed away by the current. Another likely theory: he died upon impact with the water and his body devoured by the Croconaw population. A Croconaw would not eat a living human, but a dead one was an entirely different matter. Some speculated that -- even had Gary miraculously survived the fall – he would most undoubtedly have drowned. The river is a violent one, over three meters deep and flushes out into the South Sea.

The police discovered Gary's left boot twelve kilometers downstream from the Pokeballs; several kilometers further: the remains of his knapsack. Police scoured the river for five days. Professor Oak hired a private investigation team to search for six weeks after that. The story blazed through the media making every national headline. The promising young researcher, grandson to the world renowned Professor Oak, was gone. Everyone knew that there was zero chance of survival and zero hope; and everyone was sure to tell the old professor. It was not right to give him hope. But the professor could not believe that his grandson was dead; he refused to hold a funeral or a memorial service. He wanted closure. He needed it.

Finally, after a full year had passed, a funeral was held in Pallet Town. It was held on the date which would have been Gary's _Sweet Sixteenth _birthday. Over five hundred people and Pokemon attended.

The cloud of love which had blinded the grandfather gave way to the realistic reasoning of the scientist: Gary could not have survived that fall. It had been a year. Gary was truly dead. Professor Oak finally accepted the fact that his beloved grandson was never coming home.

Just a teenager and dead.

It was a catastrophic loss . . .

No one, not even Professor Oak, had suspected how depressed Gary was. No one saw his suicide coming. He had the world at his feet and yet he chose death.

They buried a picture of Gary in a small coffin . . . it was all that they could do.

They never found his body.

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Authors Note: Well, I'm back. Hi! I have been working on this story for (honestly) over a year. I have been spinning it around in my head for months upon months . . . and, finally, I've found the time to bang it out. I already have the entire fic roughly drafted, and it is my hope that you will review if you enjoyed the prologue -- or even if you did not. Feedback is highly appreciated. I will gladly respond to all comments. Thank you for taking the time to read this far, Maia's Pen


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

_Ten years later. . . _

On this day the paparazzi became a crazed pack of Houndour. Cameras snapped like rabid jaws, microphones jutted outward like claws, reporters yowled questions with ravenous urgency – starving for just a picture, just a tidbit of information. The media was consumed within a frantic whirlwind of excitement. But who could really blame them? After all, it wasn't every day that the Pokemon Master became engaged to be married.

Even as the media swallowed her whole, the smile was not once deterred from Misty Waterflower's lips. She giggled cheerfully as her fiancé, Master Ash Ketchum, led her through the labyrinth of reporters. Representatives were present from _every _major television network, magazine, newspaper and online gossip site. The media was insatiable for details: _How did Ash propose? Where did he get that gorgeous diamond ring? How much did it cost? When was the wedding? Who would be invited? What would Misty wear?_ The bombardment of questions was incessant. Misty did not have any answers for them either -- Ash had only proposed to her twenty minutes before. In fact the two of them were _just now_ leaving the restaurant where Ash had popped the question. Misty wondered how the reporters even knew about the engagement already? Misty suspected that their waiter must have tipped the media off; there was no other way that the paparazzi would have known to be waiting outside.

Usually Misty became irked when reporters constantly stalked her famous boyfriend – _correction_ – fiancé. But not today. Today Misty was far too gleeful to play _Whack the Microphone_. Surprisingly, she was enjoying the attention upon her beautiful ring, and, she truly _wanted _the world to know that _she _was the future Mrs. Pokemon Master!

Ash and Misty had only been dating for three months, despite this short period his proposal was not a surprise to her. Although Misty was now twenty five years old, she and Ash had loved one another since they were children. They didn't need to be in a relationship any longer, they knew that they wanted to spend their lives together. If anything, this engagement was overdue. Simply put: the pair blamed life for keeping them apart. Career changes, other relationships, family problems, and their own confessional nerves – all of these things added up to their delay in getting together. But none of those factors mattered any more. What mattered was that they were together now; and Misty knew that they would never be parted again.

Ash laced his fingers with Misty's, continuing to guide her through the dizzying camera flashes. He offered her a lopsided smile; he'd been Pokemon Master for a year now but still was not accustomed to such tremendous attention. However, Misty knew that Ash loved it -- he had always thrived within the spotlight. He had always yearned for glory with the Pokemon at his side; and now he and Pikachu were international celebrities. Ash had made his dream come true, and Misty couldn't be prouder.

Ash teasingly tossed a few scraps of information to the crowd. He thanked the media for their interest, never once cursing them for prying. Misty played her part -- holding her left hand high so that every station had a fair chance of photographing _the ring_. Becoming the Pokemon Masters wife would be a mixed blessing, Misty knew, but she loved Ash enough to endure these media- Houndours. Ash told one reporter that he "had proposed prior to their romantic dinner". Misty told another that Ash "had placed the ring within a diamond encrusted Pokeball". But neither Ash nor Misty relayed the details of his passionate proposal – his speech . . . those words were for their private memories only. Before the waiter had presented their meals, Ash took Misty's hands in his; their eyes melted together and Ash began to confess all the feelings he had harbored for her. He told Misty that he sincerely loved her – that she had always been special to him since day one. They shared a laugh remembering the bicycle he had destroyed; and Misty pointed out that he'd still not repaid that debt. Ash winked, promising that he was about to give her something better . . .

Did he ever.

The ring was so dazzling that it seized the breath from her. It was like Ash had managed to place a real star upon a band of gold.

_"I do love you,"_ Ash had repeated through a smile, _"it just_ _took me a while to realize how much, and then it took me a while longer to get the courage up to tell you. Misty, I know that neither of us has ever had the best patience or the best timing with the other. I've felt like, no matter how many times I saw you over the years, the timing was never right to tell you what I was feeling. If I was going to tell you what was inside my heart, I wanted everything to be perfect. When our paths crossed three months ago at the League Games I finally convinced myself to take the chance. When I asked you out then, I was more nervous than I had been when facing off with Lance for my Master title. But I knew that I had to do it. Asking you to dinner that night turned out to be the best chance I have ever taken. And here we are again, dinning at the same restaurant I took you to three months ago. I want to always be with you, Misty. I love you and," _Ash let the ring hover over her left finger. _"I want you to be my wife."_

Of course Misty had said _"yes!"_ this was a moment she had been dreaming of since she was a young girl. Misty was thanking her lucky stars that she and Ash_ did_ happen to be at the same Orange League Games three months ago. Ash had been a guest speaker at the event, and Misty was there cheering on one of her nieces. As Ash had said: when their paths crossed the timing was perfect. They were both single. They were both ready for love. They were both set with their careers -- Ash as Pokemon Master, and Misty as organizer of the Orange Islands Water-type training program. When they saw one another at the League Games neither wasted a moment: Ash asked her out on the spot and Misty agreed at once. The two had been inseparable every weekend since. Because Ash now lived at the Indigo Plateau and Misty in the Orange Islands, they took turns visiting every other weekend; but both agreed that they needed more. The long distance relationship was too difficult. Misty decided to give up her job in the Orange Islands after the wedding; of course she was disappointed about this, but she knew that she could always find another job around The Plateau or in Viridian City. She could never find another Ash. It was also unrealistic for Ash to give up his job – he was _The_ Pokemon Master. All that truly mattered was that they would be together. Their future was incredibly bright. They had everything to look forward to and zero regrets.

Misty certainly did not regret accepting the ring! When Ash had presented her with a diamond speckled Pokeball Misty knew exactly what was inside – the key to her future with Ash – the most beautiful ring she had ever seen. Misty had never been big on jewelry, but this diamond was so sparkly, that, for once in her life she felt like her older sisters. Misty was going absolutely ga-ga over the thing. She couldn't wait to show her sisters; they would be ecstatic -- they were probably watching the news right now and already fighting over who would be the maid of honor.

"Baby," Ash's voice nudged Misty from her thoughts. The prowling reporters suddenly became invisible to Misty; she was entranced by how handsome he was in this moment just . . . smiling at her; raven hair whipping across his face; chestnut eyes shining with affection . . . this man truly loved her.

"Yes?" Misty asked, running her thumb across his knuckles.

Ash gestured across the parking lot to a pair of parked limousines. "Think we can make it past the media masses? I've arranged for your limo to take you to Cerulean to see your sisters. I've got to get back to The Plateau A.S.A.P. for work."

"I'm sure we can make it. I can always start pushing reporters if they block us," Misty teased. She felt a slight frown threatening her lips, she didn't want to be separated from her fiancée so soon . . . but, Misty understood that Ash had a very demanding job; and she appreciated him sending her home. "Let's sprint for it!" she challenged, wholly banning the frown.

Ash flaunted his classic goofy-grin; the two dashed through the remaining cluster of reporters. When they reached the limousines Ash's lips were upon Misty's at once. The restaurant parking lot became a wild roar of excitement – every photographer yearned for a photo of the smooching future newlyweds.

Misty ignored the yelping and the flashing; none of them mattered. She only wanted to relish how soft Ash's lips felt against hers and how gently his hands cupped her face.

"I love you, baby," Ash whispered, releasing her lips. "I'll call you later."

"I'll be waiting," Misty cooed. "And I love you too, Ash."

Before getting into his own limo Ash placed one final kiss upon her nose. Misty hid her sorrow like an award-winning actress – she desperately wanted to stay with him a little bit longer.

She watched Ash's limo disappear down the street, then, suddenly seemed to remember that her own was still parked and waiting for her to get in. Sighing, Misty opened the backdoor -- her driver, Old Hal, must have been too media-shy to get out and open it for her; but that was fine with Misty. Old Hal had been driving her around for weeks now (courtesy of Ash) and Misty hated it when he fretted over her like a child.

Eager to escape the pestering paparazzi, Misty immediately plopped down on the seat and slammed the limo door behind her. "Wow, Hal," she huffed, turning toward the front seat, "Can you believe th-"

Misty suddenly felt as though a charging Rhydon had slammed her body! Every bit of air was blasted from her lungs. Her eyes widened with alarm, her arms thrashed backward; sour bile crawled up the back of her throat . . .

Old Hal was NOT in the driver seat.

Instead there were two other men up front. Both wore black ski-masks over their heads. One man was piloting the auto and the other held a gun at her head.

"Hello, Miss Waterflower," the gunned man hissed like an Arbok, his pistol inching closer. "I suggest that you sit there nicely and not struggle while I blindfold you."

With Rapidash-like reflexes the man leapt into the backseat next to her. He clutched his gun in one hand and a blindfold in the other. The Rhydon was now stampeding back and forth from Misty's stomach to her heart. She could not breathe. Her heart hammered uncontrollably beneath her ribs. "What?" Misty wheezed. "No way!" she yanked on the door handle. Misty didn't care that the driver was already blazing down the highway. She would rather jump to her death then be abducted by these freaks! Misty pulled harder on the handle, but alas, the door would not budge.

"Child safety locks," the gunman stated flatly.

Misty stared at him, utterly shocked. She cursed herself for not bringing any Pokemon along – she was wearing a light summer dress, it had no pockets and her handbag was barely large enough to fit a tube of lip-gloss, let alone a Pokeball. She was defenseless.

Without warning the gunman lurched toward her, seizing her forearm – _hard!_ Misty flailed wildly – trying desperately to break his hold; but the gunman jerked her toward him. He yanked her arm like a Tyranitar pulling a weed from wet sand – Misty could feel her muscles blister with agony.

"Stop!" Misty wailed, gasping. "Who a-are you?"

"We are your kidnappers," the gunman answered coolly. He had wrestled her head against the window. Misty wished to god that the glass was not tinted black – no one would ever see her being attacked in here. The gunman proceeded to bang her head against the interior; Misty could hear the sickening crack as her skull collided four times with the door. She could taste blood and vomit churning in her throat; her vision began to stain red. Misty wanted to scream, to wipe the blood from her eyes, she tried to lift her arms but the gunman grabbed her wrists. Misty heard a metallic _click_ and quickly realized that she'd been handcuffed. Within seconds the blindfold was over her eyes. Without her hands she was nearly helpless to resist, but still Misty kicked and bucked her body. Her protests only landed her a quick smack across the jaw.

"Why?" Misty's voice trembled, but her emotions were wrought from far more anger than fear right now. "How dare you! Where is Old Hal?"

Cruel snickering lashed her ears. "Old Hal?" the gunman jested. "The driver? Oh, he's about eighteen meters below the Saffron Lake by now."

Bitter tears stung Misty's eyes . . . _Poor Old Hal._ She was actually grateful that the blindfold prevented these psychos from seeing her weep. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because," the gunman rasped, "you are the fiancée of the Pokemon Master."

"Is it money that you want? Because Ash will give you anything, you don't have to do th-"

"Nah, not da money," the driver finally spoke up; he sounded like a grumbling Onix. "What we want from Ketchum he'll be hard-pressed to give. But with you we may _finally_ have a chance."

Dread swelled in Misty's stomach like an ulcer. "Team Rocket," she seethed, "you want to use me as a ransom demand. You think Ash will trade me for _THE _Pokemon." It was not a question, Misty already knew the answer.

"Well, that _is_ the idea, Miss Waterflower."

Misty forced herself to breathe. "Then you might as well kill me now. Ash will _never_ see that monster back in your hands."

"We'll see about that, my dear, won't we," mocked the gunman. "The Pokemon Master might find sacrificing his lady love a tad difficult. At least, we are counting on that. And you should too, darling. We guarantee we'll do whatever we must to get your fiancée to crack."

Misty lay back against the seat – her temples throbbed and her senses spun dizzily. Her ability to think was hammered mercilessly by a migraine.

Ash would _never _allow that genetic-freak-of-a-Pokemon back into the hands of Team Rocket. That Pokemon had once massacred thousands under Team Rockets will._ It_ was the reason that Professor Oak was dead. Protecting this Pokemon from the Rockets . . . it was the _sworn duty_, the _sacred vow_, the _number one_ responsibility of the reigning Pokemon Master. Misty would sooner see Ash break a wedding vow. She would willingly die before she saw the monster released. And, she knew that Ash would willingly die first as well . . .

He was a true Pokemon Master.

Team Rocket had wasted their time; their plan had backfired before it began. . .

. . . and she was going to be killed because of it.

Misty's blindfold was now drenched from silent tears. _Ash can't save me._

As though reading her thoughts the driver spoke up: "Self-sacrifice is easy, Miss Waterflower, that's why we didn't abduct Ketchum. However, sacrificing someone you love . . ." his voice trailed off. His point was made without any further words.

But the Rockets had underestimated Pokemon Master Ash Ketchum. His first love was -- and always would be -- the Pokemon. He would give Team Rocket nothing; and Misty would be proud of him until her final breath.

Misty quietly mourned her future in the back seat.

It was all that she could do.

Engaged for less than an hour.

Truly happy for less than an hour.

Everything was over now.

She would never see Ash again.

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Authors Note: And so the stage is set. If you are taking the time to read this, please, also take just a moment to leave a little review. A few words go a long way! I love feedback. I love comments. I will happily respond. Thanks, Maia's Pen.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The drive to hell seemed eternal. Blindfolded, banged up, and bleeding, Misty had zero ability to judge where she was headed. She felt as though she had spent the last few hours riding a looping rollercoaster in the dark. Misty was beyond disoriented – she had no idea if she was even sitting up or lying down. Her body felt like one giant pulsating wound. Team Rocket had switched automobiles twice throughout the journey which only confused her further. So far all that Misty had come to understand was: she would sooner realize the Meaning of Life than realize her location.

Misty did not breathe a word to her abductors for the remainder of the ride. On the contrary, she pretended that she had passed out. It was her hope that the Rockets might engage one another in a conversation – perhaps slip a small detail as to where she was going. Unfortunately Misty's acting was in vain -- an ancient tomb was probably a livelier place than the automobile. The driver never even stopped to refuel; the gunman never flinched. Neither man even had the need to cough or sneeze.

When at last the Rockets reached their destination, Misty was dragged --still blindfolded-- into some sort of elaborate building. She was pushed inside of several elevators (traveling both up and down), also shoved around dozens of corridors, up stairwells, down stairwells, in doors, out doors . . .

An Alakazam's _Confusion _attack would have seemed dull compared to _this_ confounded treatment. Misty might as well have been sucked into a black hole -- her body was already moving against her will throughout a dark maze, stumbling within darkness.

Finally, after what felt like a twelve kilometer hike, the two Rockets pushed her inside a room. Dried blood had formed a snarl within Misty's hair; her scalp itched terribly. She knew that wishing for a shower was too much, but still she longed for these Rockets to at least un-cuff her hands so that she could scratch. Her hope was not granted, the only thing they removed was her blindfold. The light had quickly invaded her sight, Misty winced loudly – the brightness stung her eyes like lemon juice.

This room held Misty a prisoner now. And this room was freezing cold. She huddled upon the floor – the ceramic tiles were like cubes of ice; her summer dress and heels did little to shield her skin. Team Rocket must have had their central air system cranked to maximum.

A lone Rocket guarded the rooms' only exit. This man did nothing but glare at her. Misty tried to ignore him. Her two abductors had disappeared after dumping her inside this room. Misty was relieved that they went away – the gunned mans violent assault haunted her. She did not need a mirror to know that her forehead displayed a massive bruise. Bashing her head into the limousine window once would have been plenty; he had no reason to do it four times.

Misty listed her ailments in her head:

Lightheaded.

Nauseated.

Miserable.

Aching.

Suffering.

And starving too.

Misty struggled against her lungs, forcing them to breathe. Panic could overwhelm her at any moment. Her emotions were wielding a ferocious battle within her: a part of her wanted to cry and beg for mercy . . . the rest of her wanted to curse and scream at these kidnapping lunatics! But, somehow, Misty found the wits to remain silent . . . probably for the first time in her life.

Misty instructed herself to remain calm until an opportunity presented itself for her to make a verbal plea. Surly some half-way reasonable Rocket member was bound to turn up eventually. . .

Maybe?

Despite her fatigue, Misty conducted a thorough scan of her environment. The room was no more than five meters in width or length. The ceilings were about the same in height – it was a perfect box, Misty decided, a perfect prison. The door was solid metal and Misty noticed a keypad near the entry -- clearly you needed a code to gain either entrance or exit. There were no windows. No furniture. Not even a pro-Rocket poster to decorate the walls. She was not even given a stool to sit on. All this room boasted was that horrible guard. The guard wore the standard white and red Team Rocket uniform – Misty knew it well due to Jessie and James stalking Pikachu during her youth. But unlike Jessie and James, this Rocket had a hideous face -- his skin was the hue of egg yolk and it seemed to sag from his face like melting candle wax. Misty continued to ignore him. She wished he would grant her the same favor –he was way too interested in staring at her. If Team Rocket had planed to make her feel intimidated then they did a good job when selecting this goon as a guard.

Misty's stomach growled loudly, the guard must have heard her but he said nothing. The dinner she had enjoyed with Ash was long gone from her stomach.

_Ash. . ._

Misty's heart wrenched as she thought of her fiancée. . . by now he must have learned that she was missing. Misty did not know if Team Rocket had contacted him yet. Maybe Ash knew about the impossible ransom demand? Maybe he did not? Maybe he thought she had vanished without a trace? Perhaps he would even think that she got cold feet and left him? Misty shuddered; this feeling of helplessness crushed her like a Graveler's Rock Throw. She despised feeling weak and defenseless! She was strong! She would be NO mans damsel in distress! Not ever. Misty fought against frustrated tears. If only she were allowed one phone call, heck, even murderers got to use a phone in jail. Misty just wanted Ash to know that she was alive. She just wanted him to know that she loved him. She wanted to tell him never to give these bastards what they wanted. She wanted him to know that she was sorry . . . sorry that she could never be with him again . . . that their dreams would never come true. . .

Would Team Rocket really kill her?

Maybe there was chance for a compromise?

She shouldn't give up hope yet, should she?

There must be something she could do!

Anything!

Her life with Ash could NOT be over already, could it? It hadn't even started yet, this just wasn't fair! The Rocket scum! How dare their greed rob her of her happiness -- of her life!

Deep down Misty knew that she was surly doomed. Ash could never give Team Rocket what they wanted; he would condemn the world if he relinquished their unnatural Pokemon back to them. Team Rocket might have created the Pokemon, but there was no way that they could have control of it again. It was a lethal weapon in their hands -- that had been proven once before. Over three thousands gravestones stood as a reminder.

"Enter!"

The metal door suddenly flew open with the force of a _Whirlwind _attack. Misty would have jumped had her body any energy left at all. Standing in the doorway were three _more_ Team Rocket members: one woman and two men. All three were clad in identical Rocket uniforms. The woman was no older than Misty – her hair fell in blond piles across her chest. This female Rocket looked as though she were meant to be on the cover of a fashion magazine -- she was beautiful -- Misty wondered why she had chosen to lose her life to the Rockets? The woman's features were twisted into an irate frown, despite her good-looks, she did not seem friendly. The men were very similar in build, both tall and muscular. One was in his mid-thirties, he had dark hair and a face that seemed permanently carved into a scowl. The other man was much older -- certainly over fifty. The older mans head was shaved as smooth as a grape; his eyes seemed to bulged from their sockets. This bald man clutched a shotgun; his fingers stroked the barrel as though it were the tail of an Eevee. If first impressions were worth anything: Misty would have avoided each of them had she passed them out on the streets.

The woman eyed Misty as though she were a scrawny Caterpie. The men both turned their attention upon the blond, watching with anticipation. It was immediately obvious to Misty that this woman was calling the shots.

"She is _not_ banged up enough, Remington," the woman spat, scowling at the younger man.

The younger Rocket, Remington, shrugged. "Sorry, Glare, she was pretty well-behaved in the auto. I had no need."

_That voice! _Misty stiffened.

"N.K.?" Glare turned to the bald man.

"Don't blame me, I was drivin'," his voice was a low familiar rumble . . .

Misty shivered -- it had nothing to do with the cold. _These are the men who abducted me! _

Glare sighed, clearly frustrated, then reached into a small knapsack and withdrew a Polaroid camera. "I need blood in these pictures. We can't propose the deal without good evidence. We need to _shake_ the Pokemon Master. C'mon, we can not disappoint The Boss."

_The Boss? What's going on? What are they going to do to me?_

"Want me to do it?" offered the Rocket who had been standing guard. Misty had almost forgotten about him.

"No. _You_ can actually get lost," Glare snapped. The ugly guard instantly hustled from the room, he seemed anxious to get away from Glare. "Remington?" Glare pressed.

"I got it," Remington yawned, rolling up his sleeves. He approached Misty with the ease of someone about to pluck berries from a tree.

Panic _now _seized Misty like a death grip-- she was physically trembling, teeth chattering; eyes wide! This sick-o was about to beat her!

"Wait!" Misty attempted to move backward, to get away, but she was already up against the wall. She had nowhere to go. She was defenseless, trapped! Her instincts were screaming: demanding that Misty shield herself with her hands; but of course they were bound behind her. She was robbed of her basic ability to try and block the assault. "Please! Please don't!"

"Sorry, Miss Waterflower, it's not personal. But you can understand the importance of sending your fiancée convincing pictures that you are, indeed, in grave danger." Remington used the same chilling tone as when he'd banged her head inside the auto.

"Please! Don't! Don-"

Like a battering ram, Remington's fist smashed against her face. Misty knew that he had collided with her right eye, but physically, she could feel nothing . . . in this moment her senses had abandoned her. Her capacity for feeling had fled, only to be replaced by numbing shock. It was her body's last resort – a defense mechanism to keep her sane. Misty's consciousness began to waver, her eyelashes fluttered shut, and . . . she suspected that her body was moving . . .

. . . then, suddenly, Misty noticed that she had collapsed upon the floor -- fallen completely over. She could no longer feel the cold tiles beneath her cheek. Something curious drizzled down her face . . . it was hot and sticky like syrup, only it was red in color. Voices conversed all around her. But what were they saying? Misty could not understand them; their words seemed slurred, far away like echoes . . . were they even speaking a language that she knew? What was happening?

Rough hands were upon Misty now, grabbing her shoulders and forcing her to sit up again. Misty's eyelids were insufferably heavy; she struggled to open them, to see what was going on. She successfully managed the left eye, but her right would not comply; that red syrup was like shellac -- sealing her eyelid shut. Misty glanced upward, Remington had propped her against the wall. His hand was again raised, preparing to strike her. Misty moaned in protest, lacking the strength to even verbally plead with him. She could only watch as his fist swung toward her face . . . she cried out, bracing for the critical impact. . .

. . . only . . .

. . . none came.

Instead there were more voices. _Angry_ voices.

Hands were upon her shoulders again. Only, these ones were not rough . . . they were . . . gentle . . .

Misty's body was carefully guided downward; something soft was now beneath her head. Perplexed, she dared a glance upward.

Now there was yet _another_ man in the room. _Another_ Rocket. This man was standing with his back aimed at Misty; he was busy arguing with Glare and the others.

Misty inhaled deeply; her pulse thundering beneath her temples. At once she began to comprehend that the substance upon her face was not syrup, but rather, her own blood. _Oh god! Breathe, Misty! _She urged herself. _This is no time to panic! _This was priceless time that she _needed _to gather her wits. To think!

Every joint in Misty's body felt like a flaming twig, ready to snap or be devoured by flames. Her muscles burned, they were stiff, but still she managed to prop herself upon her elbows. Misty noticed that the softness beneath her was from a folded bandana. _Where did this come from? _

As best as she could (with one working eye) Misty studied this new Rocket: he was at least six feet tall. Like most Rockets, he had a lean athletic build. Misty was certain that these guys spent half their days lifting weights and jogging. This Rockets hair was the shade of fresh ice -- a blue so frosty it was almost silver. His hair was styled into a wild array of spikes, and these spikes made him seem even taller still. Attached to his belt were four Pokeballs and slug across his back was a _very _large gun. Misty did not know what kind of gun it was, but she did not doubt that it could blast her arm right off. Misty didn't need to see his face to know that he was angry; she could _hear _it in his voice. Misty concentrated hard, struggling to understand what was being said. Her ears slowly began to regain their accuracy.

"Shard!" Glare shrieked as though this man _had_ blasted off her arm, "we need these pictures to be bloody."

"I know that," Shard's voice was calm, controlled, and as icy as his hair. Glare flinched. "Allow _me_ to remind _you_," Shard continued, "The Boss put ME in charge of this operation, and I authorized photos, not brutality. We are not out to kill her," Shard turned toward Misty now, pointing down at her.

Misty gaped up at him – should she be terrified or hopeful?

Unlike the other Rockets, this man, Shard, wore a mask. It was a small eye mask; one like you would expect the villain in a comic book to wear. The mask perfectly matched Shard's hair color. Because the mask only shielded his eyes, Misty could still access the rest of his face. He was young, about her age. Like Glare, his features seemed destined for a fashion magazine cover – not a prison photo. But he, also like Glare, had chosen the life of a Rocket – of a killer.

Shard's sight seemed fixed upon Misty; perhaps he was accessing her condition? Misty was unsure because she could not actually _see_ his eyes -- they were covered by a thin screen-fabric within the mask. Shard could see out but no one could see in. His eyes were totally concealed. Misty had an uncomfortable feeling that Shard was making eye contact with her. Misty looked away, peering instead at his boots; she felt vulnerable beneath his mysterious stare. It was intolerably nerve-wracking.

Was this young man trying to help her or not?!

Misty decided to remain on guard, prepared to block any blow he might deal her.

"Take the picture," Shard ordered, his tone void of emotion.

"Yes, _Sir,_" Glare waltzed by him, evident bite in her tone. She and Shard glowered at once another . . . intensely. Misty wondered if there was something else going on here? Remington seemed extremely uptight; he an N.K. exchanging constant nods.

Misty did not want to look at the camera, but Shard bent down and turned her toward Glare. Misty did not have the strength to wrestle with him. The Polaroid picture was shot and Misty felt as though Glare had just nailed her with a bullet.

When Ash saw that picture . . . of her bruised and bloody face . . ._ Oh, god_ . . . it was going to break his heart.

Shatter him.

Destroy him.

Misty _hated _that these bastard Rockets were going to use her like this. Use the beautiful love which she and Ash shared as their trashy blackmail. It was disgusting! She would rather die than be a pawn in this twisted game any longer. Misty's stomach reeled with nausea; she swallowed hard, forcing the sour-liquid down her esophagus. She would not give these Rockets the satisfaction of seeing her become sick. They would just love watching her crumble. It was NOT going to happen.

"There, you can leave now," Shard stated matter-of-factly. He was facing Glare again.

Glare stepped toward Shard, her face mere centimeters from his. Misty now understood how she had gotten her codename . . . that wench _could_ glare! Those blazing green eyes could probably reduce a Charizard to tears. Not only could Glare have been a successful model, but she'd have made one hell of a prison warden as well. Despite the venom spewing from Glare's sight, Shard managed to stare right back at her. He was unflinching.

Remington cleared his throat, obviously disturbed by something. "Glare?" he pressed.

Glare grit her teeth so loudly that Misty could hear the enamel grind. Remington placed a hand on Glare's shoulder and eased her toward him. Glare huffed, but eventually relinquished her silent argument with Shard. She exited the room; Remington and N.K. hastily in tow.

In this moment the remainder of Misty's energy fizzled away; her joints had been entirely consumed by flaming agony, her arms collapsed and her head sank downward. Misty's eyes lulled shut, unconsciousness beckoning her forward. _It would feel so good to just sleep for a while. . ._

Misty's mind began the decent into dreamland; she had forgotten that Shard was still in the room. But then, abruptly, she heard him move.

Misty gasped, her good eye snapping open: Shard loomed over her – an utterly intimidating figure. Misty despised his eye mask – she could not read him at all. The most dangerous predators were those impossible to read. This made Shard far more threatening than Glare, N.K. or even Remington. At least she could predict Remington's behavior.

No, Shard was worse.

Misty had become the Mareep trapped within the Houndoom den – surrounded on all sides. Damned to death. She could not trust any of these Rockets, no matter how civil one might appear.

Shard WAS worse, Misty decided, he was worse than any savage Houndoom.

Shard slowly knelt down beside her, his big brown boots just centimeters from her face. "Miss Waterflower, will you hold still while I remove your handcuffs?" his voice no longer stung like frostbite; rather, it brushed her ears like a summer breeze . . .

Misty cautioned herself: she could not allow herself to relax, not even a little. She HAD to remain alert – strong. A Houndoom will often nuzzle a Mareep before crushing its throat.

Misty nodded weakly, delayed in acknowledging his words.

Shard reached behind her and detached the cuffs. Misty instantly flexed her tender wrists. She then struggled in vain to rub the blood from her eyes – but only succeeded in smearing it further.

"I am Elite Rocket Shard," he introduced, "I am responsible for you until this situation is resolved. If you cooperate I can see to it that you are not harmed again."

Hopeless emotions ambushed Misty now. She WAS cooperating! She had been defenseless against Remington. That man could have KILLED her. Murdered her! He quite possibly may have had . . .

. . .had Shard not intervened. If he hadn't then she might already be dead.

Misty's own mortality suddenly whacked her across the face. It was gruesome. It was raw. It was real. Her courage began collapsing in sync with her heart.

_Oh, please. . . I'm not ready to die . . . not here. Not like this. But Ash can't save me. I wouldn't want him to. And so, there truly is no way out for me . . ._

Misty fought against her grief like a true warrior of emotion: her eyelids crushing the tears like shields, her fingers raised like swords to swipe away any escapees. However, the sorrow bombarded her until Misty could no longer beat the tears back. Her face became a grisly battlefield -- it looked as though she was crying blood, for the tears collected gore as they slid away.

"Ash won't come for me. H-He can't. And you're going to end up killing me, aren't you, Elite Rocket Shard?"

Shard stiffened just ever-so-slightly. "Ketchum is your fiancée. He will be cooperative."

Misty's distress clutched her within a devastating chokehold. "And i-if Ash w-won't? If he c-can't?"

"Then, _yes_," the polar storm returned to Shard's voice. All gentleness was gone. "I will have to kill you."

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Authors Note: Well, I hope this chapter was enjoyed. I would really appreciate a review if you have any comments (good or bad). If you like this story, please take a small second to post a review and let me know. Thanks, Maia's Pen.

**NEXT CHAPTER:** Discover the identity of the mysterious Pokemon. Learn why the heck the Rockets want it back so badly . . . and why Pokemon Master Ketchum is desperate NOT to give it.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

_**Pokemon Master –**_

_**We have your fiancée Miss Misty Waterflower. As you can see by the enclosed photograph her condition is not good. We will continue to mistreat her until you surrender our Pokemon back to us. The sooner you agree the better for your fiancées wellbeing. We will contact you shortly with details on a time and location for the switch. Take a good hard look at the photo, Pokemon Master. She is suffering. Go ahead, call the police. They can't help you. Only you can fix this.**_

_**T.R.**_

An emotional earthquake tore throughout Ash Ketchum's body. He shuddered uncontrollably, his legs suddenly like wobbly stilts. His arms trembled as though frostbitten, and even his jaw ached from the vibrations. This terrible quake ripped through Ash until he buckled. Even collapsed upon his office floor did the horror shake him. Ash's hands quivered until he nearly shred the paper within his fingers. He gasped, feeling as though he were physically experiencing a _Rage _attack. His face burned as a smoldering fury festered within his gut – this anger boiled until he felt that he could actually spit flames. Sweat dribbled down Ash's brow, the perspiration stung his eyes but he lacked the will to even wipe it away. His life had just been wrenched from him. A whisper within Ash urged him to curl up and die, but as he reread the paper Ash knew that he _had_ to stand back up. He _had_ to gather his wits. He _had_ to fight. He had to fight for something far more important than any Pokemon battle: he had to fight for love.

Ash steadied his hand long enough to get a good hard look at the Polaroid photograph. This photo had accompanied the ransom letter. The woman in the picture was Misty. Ash was positive. He would recognize her anywhere. Misty had only been missing for six hours, but Ash had suspected from the get-go that Team Rocket was to blame. In the photo Misty was huddled upon a floor; she looked as though she had been trampled by a crazed herd of Tauros. Her face was splattered with blood; her hair was a mangy knot of gore. Misty's right eye was swollen shut. Ash only wished that a crazed Tauros _was _to blame -- at least a Pokemon would not have meant to harm her. But Ash knew that Misty's injuries were not caused accidentally by a Pokemon. They were caused purposely by a fellow human. A Rocket. A Rocket who harmed her simply because Ash loved her.

In the photo someone's hands were on Misty's face; this person was forcing her to stare at the camera. An aftershock streaked through Ash's body – the emotional quake had not finished with him. The room spun dizzily, Ash felt as though he were caught within a whirlpool and sinking to his death.

The Rocket bastards had Misty! They were hurting her! How could this have happened? How did they get her? Did they abduct her after she had arrived in Cerulean City? Her sisters never saw her. Or did they do it before? Someplace between the restaurants parking lot and Cerulean? Misty's driver, Old Hal, was also missing; did they kidnap him too? Or did they dispose of him and hijack the limousine? Ash buried his face in his hands. If they did hijack the limousine then that meant . . .

_Oh my god . . . I could have saved her. _

Why the hell hadn't he checked the limo before Misty got in? How could he have been so careless? What if Misty did not survive this nightmare? What if the Rockets killed her?

_This is my fault! _Ash's thoughts lashed him mercilessly._ If she dies . . . oh my god . . . if she dies it will be my goddamn fault!_

Ash's office door clicked open. In walked his right hand: Lance the Dragon Master. Pikachu came scurrying in behind Lance. Ash's electric mouse had taken a liking to the Dragon Master and the two regularly went out for lunch. Lance would share the ketchup from his burgers and Pikachu loved him for it. Lance was currently carrying a bag of take-out food for Ash, but he dropped it when he saw the Pokemon Master shaking upon the floor.

"Ash!" Lance bolted toward his friend.

"Pika!" Pikachu ran in frantic circles around his master.

Lance hoisted Ash to his feet and helped him over to the sofa. "What's going on? Are you ill, Ash? I'll call a doctor-"

"No!" Ash raised a hand, indicating silence. "Look, Lance. LOOK!" Ash stuffed the letter and Polaroid photo into Lance's hand.

Lance focused upon the evidence, his expression grave. "No," he gasped, "where did you get this letter, Ash?"

Ash sighed woefully. He had already told Lance that Misty never arrived at her sisters' gym, but Lance had convinced him that she probably just got sidetracked. Perhaps she ran into an old friend, went out for a coffee, went window-shopping for wedding dresses, the limo got a flat tire – Ash was desperate to believe these possibilities. He did not want to be a paranoid fiancé, calling Officer Jenny every time Misty was late. Even when Misty did not answer her cell phone, Ash convinced himself that she had just lost service. Nothing was wrong, he told himself, and Misty would call soon . . .

But the photo was like a slamming judge's mallet – confirming a devastating otherwise.

"A moment ago a Fearow was pecking on my window," Ash began, "I opened it up and the Pokemon dropped this envelope onto the rug. Then it just flew away. It all happened so fast, I should have sent out Noctowl to follow it, but-but I didn't. Oh, god. . . I let it get away. Oh my god." Tears were threatening Ash, and, at this point he did not care if Lance saw him weep. The woman he loved was gone.

"Okay," Lance took a deep breath, sounding as controlled as always. The Dragon Master was a true pro – if a disaster ever ravaged the land Ash knew that Lance would be calm and focused while everyone around him crumbled. Ash felt very fortunate to have him here now. "We obviously can not give the Rockets what they want, that goes without saying. We WILL find a middle ground. For now, we have got to find a way to stall for time. They're not going to get away with this, Ash. They won't take Misty away from you. Don't worry. We'll rescue her. I promise."

Ash nodded. He had no idea how his friend could make such a pledge, but coming from Lance, Ash believed it. He had too.

The Dragon Master raked his fingers through his mane of red spikes. "Let me think." Lance stood and began pacing back and forth from one side of Ash's Masters Office to the other. Ash just watched him, his eyes shadowing every movement Lance made. Ash placed Misty's photo face down on the sofa – he could not stand to look at it again.

"All right, this is what we are going to do," Lance seemed confident. "I'm calling the Elite Four into a meeting. Can you be ready in ten minutes? I'm also calling Officer Jenny and Professor Elm – he happens to be in town, thank god, because we'll need him. I want all of us to sit down. I have an idea."

"Sure, of course," Ash took Lance's hand in his. "Thank you. I'm too upset to even think straight. I-I'll be in the meeting room in ten, no problem."

"Good," Lance hustled to the door. "Bring the letter and -" Lance flinched with sympathy, "and the picture."

Ash only nodded. Lance left the room and Pikachu was at once upon Ash's lap, snuggling against his cheek. Had it not been for the tears rolling down his face, Ash would have looked like a statue. He was stiff, expressionless; with empty eyes . . . he had not the strength to even stroke Pikachu. He just sat -- his miserable thoughts trashing his mind like a steel whip.

He absolutely could not -- _would not-- _unleash that sinister Pokemon upon the world. Ash would rather die than lose Misty, but he could not allow thousands more to die _for_ Misty. Six years ago, long before Ash became the Pokemon Master, the world was introduced to Team Rockets _creation. _A Pokemon unlike anything the world had seen before. Team Rocket had spent years creating it within a lab. They planned to use it to obtain world domination. To force all world leaders to submit to them. Ash had been eighteen at the time so he remembered this devastating day vividly. The day the Rockets released _it_. The day the entire city of Goldenrod was destroyed. The day 3,009 people and Pokemon were massacred. The day Professor Oak was murdered.

Ash trembled, this memory was still raw . . . he hated to recall the details of this day . . . he HATED Team Rocket. Ash took a deep breath, forcing his mind to organize the events which occurred then. It was important that he remember the helpless anger which he felt as he watched the events unfold on the television. The blood, the horror -- he needed it to stay strong. To fight them now. He needed to remember what it felt like to lose Professor Oak, that rage was the only thing which could give him strength now. That rage was something he could cling to. When this monster, a genetic freak, was let loose upon Goldenrod, Officer Jenny's entire police department was defeated. Most of the Jenny's survived, but their Pokemon were obliterated. Johto and Kanto's Special Forces Units were called in and all were annihilated. As Goldenrod burned, the monster set its sights upon Olivine City, and everyone knew that the carnage was not going to stop there. The Elite Four became the world's last hope. Lance was the reigning Master then, and he led the Elite Four in a gruesome battle against it. This Pokemon was a _Psychic_ attack master – and it was going to a take a master to defeat it. It was going to take Lance.

With the Elite Four by his side, Lance waged a battle against the Pokemon for three seemingly endless days. Most of the Elite Fours Pokemon were killed in the battle. The monster managed to reduce half of Olivine City to rubble. The Elite Fours Pokemon were simply not strong enough – even Karen, with her dark types, could not gain the upper hand. Team Rockets Pokemon was equipped with a wide range of special attacks and defense boosters; it could even use _Recover_. The monster easily evaded nearly all assaults. It was supernatural, intelligent, and it had a ravenous appetite for blood. It was on the third day of chaos that Professor Oak entered the scene. He had created something – a potion which would temporarily give the bearer (in this case: Lance's Dragonite) ghost-type properties and attacks. It was something the professor had been working on for some time, although no one ever learned quite why. Whatever his motivation, the potion was genus. The professor knew that now was the time to test it out – it might be Johto's last hope. As of then, Lance's Dragonite was the most powerful trained Pokemon on the planet; therefore there was no better Pokemon in existence to give this potion to.

Team Rockets monster saw the exchange between Lance and the professor; outraged, it unleashed a fatal _Psychic _attack upon him. Professor Oak was killed instantly. But his death was not in vain. Blazing with ghost powers, Dragonite was able to finish off what so many other Pokemon had started before him. He took that genetic-disaster down and Lance caught it within a _Master__ Ball_.

Team Rocket was beyond furious. Lance and the Elite Four were physically assaulted by Rockets within moments of the monsters capture. Fortunately, Dragonite had just enough fight left in him to chase the Rockets away. The Rocket organization had clearly spent millions engineering this bizarre Pokemon. Even now no one knew what exactly that Pokemon was. It had not once been released from the _Master Ball _since Lance trapped it six years ago. Physically it was impossible to tell what the monster looked like because it was dressed in a mechanical, computerized suit of armor. But Ash did recall that it stood upright like a human and had a thick muscular tail and amber eyes. Over the years many scientists have requested to study it, but Lance refused them all. It is not fit to be released or recreated. The Dragon Master had the diabolical creature's Pokeball locked away in the highest security facility on the planet. Only the true voice, DNA, and pass code of the reigning Pokemon Master can unlock the safe where the monster is eternally being detained. Team Rocket had attempted several times to break into the safe, but had never even gotten close.

After six years of failing to steal their Pokemon back, the Rockets had finally changed their game plan. During his rein Lance had no wife or family – there was nothing to threaten him with. But when Ash became the new Master last year Team Rocket saw something: hope. Lance had passed on the grave responsibility to his successor. It was Ash's sworn duty to protect the world from this monster. He could not free it. _Not for anything._ Not even for Misty. This was a pledge that Ash did not make lightly. And it was a pledge that he intended to keep. He NEEDED to keep it – for all of the thousands of innocents who were slaughtered. So many people . . . so many Pokemon, all who died because of Team Rockets greed. He owed it to them all. But most of all . . . Ash owned it to Professor Oak. He would never allow the professors sacrifice to be wasted.

NEVER.

"Pikachu, Lance's plan – whatever it is-- has just GOT to work," Ash pressed his face into Pikachu's soft fur. Pikachu licked his face reassuringly. "Let's go. Lance and the others should be ready by now."

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"There, that's much better," Shard announced, placing the finishing touches upon Misty's bandage. He had spent the past several minutes securing a dressing around her forehead. Since Glare, Remington, and N.K. took their leave this Rocket had been busy tending to Misty's injuries. Her right eye was still swollen, but her full vision had returned to it. Shard had also given her a small meal and some aspirin. Misty consumed everything ravenously. The nourishment helped to alleviate her nausea and dizziness. She would not say that she was _grateful_ for Shard's treatment, but she was relieved to have it. Her body had desperately needed medical attention as well as food and drink. Having something tangible in her stomach made her feel a bit better.

Shard took Misty by the shoulders and carefully pulled her to her feet. The muscles in her legs felt like mere damp paper, there was barely any strength within them. She could hardly hold herself up. Shard took notice of this and kept his grip upon her shoulders to steady her. He led her slowly toward the rooms exit.

"Where are we going?" Misty hardly recognized her voice as her own, it was hoarse from being confined in the cold. Despite its croaky sound her voice held demand. Misty knew that commanding answers from a Rocket was risky, but at this point she did not care. She had been inside this godforsaken-box-of-a-room since arriving at the Rocket's base, why would Shard be taking her anyplace else? Going elsewhere made her feel uneasy.

Shard busied himself with punching in a code to open the door. He did not bother to turn and look at her. "To your room of course, Miss Waterflower." He answered, truly sounding like the worlds politest person ever.

Misty scoffed inwardly -- she knew that he was a killer. But, she supposed that even a killer could be courteous from time-to-time. It just struck her as odd and made Elite Rocket Shard an even tougher enigma to solve. Being unable to see his eyes infuriated her enough, but now being unable to predict if his well-mannered behavior as an act or not was driving her crazy. Rockets were infamous for treating their captives like diseased Aipom's -- they did not tend to their wounds or help them walk and_ especially _did not speak with genteel tongues. So far, Shard seemed to be a very out-of-character Rocket. "Your room is not far, and it's quite comfortable." He added, noticing the hesitance in her eyes.

"What do you meant? I thought-"

"Do you really want to stay in _here_?"

"Of course not."

"That's why I have arranged a better place for you to stay until the switch is made. You'll have your own private bathroom with a shower. You will also have a bed and clean clothes provided," Shard glanced toward her -- at least Misty thought he did, but with that stupid mask she could not be certain. "That little _frock_ you have on is hardly appropriate."

Misty felt her cheeks burn. "What is that supposed to mean?"

_Who the hell does this guy think he is? How dare he! Is it not bad enough that I am his prisoner? Now he dares to tell me what I can or can not wear! _Misty was using every ounce of self-control to keep her thoughts inside her head and off of her lips.

Shard grunted with amusement at her reaction. Misty's face only burned hotter. "I mean," he went on, flashing a blatant smirk. "It's very cold in here, Miss Waterflower. The heat is never on. Warmer attire is much more appropriate."

Misty huffed, choosing to ignore the barefaced entertainment he was receiving from her frustration. She wanted to demand that Shard wipe that irritating grin from his lips, but she was far too weak to even question him, let alone fight with him.

Misty lowered her gaze to the floor and sighed. She did not trust Shard, but, unfortunately for Misty she had no choice but to obey him. She admitted to herself that a more comfortable space would be a preferred prison . . . she did despise this little box room. But she would not tell that to Shard.

"Miss Waterflower," Shard turned to her again as the door hissed open. "I apologize for this, but I am going to have to blindfold you until we get to your new room. It's protocol, not personal."

Misty braced herself, but said nothing as Shard tied dark fabric around her head. Unlike Remington who roughly forced the blindfold over her eyes, Shard was gentle. His fingers carefully brushed her hair to the side, he made sure that not one strand became entangled within the knot. Shard then lay his hand upon her should again. He guided her down a winding corridor. Despite receiving medical attention Misty was still weak. She felt as though she were walking through wet cement – her feet seemed insufferably heavy. Her sense of balance was thrown completely askew by the darkness. Twice she nearly stumbled -- fortunately Shard caught her each time and did not press onward until she was steady again. Misty almost thanked him, but then stopped herself . . . Shard was not worthy of any gratitude. It was HIS fault that her life would soon be over. His civility would come to a screeching halt very soon -- Misty knew -- once Team Rocket realized that Ash was not going to comply. . . Shard would then take that big gun of his and slaughter her. No way would she spare even a polite word for him or for any of them. Misty would go down with pride.

After rounding a final corner Shard stopped walking. Misty heard the _swish_ of an opening door and then Shard led her forward. Her blindfold was removed at once. Although she had only been blindfolded for a few moments, her eyes ached while adjusting to the light. Misty scanned her new prison: it was surely much nicer than the last one. The room was three times as large. There was a twin-sized bed dressed in a plush turquoise comforter and it even had a matching pillow. Next to the bed was a nightstand with a small lamp. On the far wall was another door – Misty guessed it led to the bathroom. In one corner there was also a portable water cooler. The only other piece of furniture was a cupboard. Misty guessed that warmer clothing was inside.

Misty wanted to head straight for the bathroom, the dried blood in her hair _needed_ to get scrubbed out. As she took a step forward she suddenly felt woozy and stumbled. Shard caught her arm and held her upright.

"Sit down," he ordered flatly.

Misty nodded, allowing him to lead her to the bed. Misty plopped down at once -- the soft comforter embraced her like a hug. It felt incredible to have warm plush bedding beneath her instead of that icy hard floor.

Shard reached beneath the bed and withdrew a medical kit. Misty watched quietly as he opened the box and took out a small light. "Sit still," Shard instructed, shinning the light into one of her eyes and then the other. He seemed to be meticulously studying her pupils. Next Shard proceeded to withdraw a stethoscope and blood pressure aneroid. Shard attached the blood pressure cuff to her forearm and also listened to her heartbeat. Misty shifted uncomfortably, but did as she was told. She felt as though she were being examined by a doctor not a murdering Rocket . . .

Shard was so . . . different.

Shard was thorough in his examination of her vitals, he spent a good ten minutes looking in her ears, listening to her lungs, tapping on her knees, and even asking her to take deep breaths. All the while he continually asked her if she was okay; if he was being gentle enough; if anything hurt?

Misty clenched her jaw, aggravated beyond words! She wanted Shard to can this _Mr. Nice Guy _performance and just be the maniac she _knew _he must truly be! Again Misty harnessed her temper and settled for a confused frown. How did some stupid Rocket know any of this medical stuff anyway? So far her experiences with Rockets (throughout her entire life) had only proven them all to be uneducated losers. Jessie and James were incapable of spelling their names, and the thought of them assessing vitals signs was inconceivable. But then again, Shard _had_ introduced himself and an _Elite _Rocket. Misty didn't know what the _Elite_ part meant, but she assumed his higher ranking was due to his more advanced skills. He clearly was not your average Rocket.

Finally, Shard put his medical equipment away. "You don't appear to have a concussion, Miss Waterflower. Over all you are very healthy. Most likely your dizziness is due to stress."

Misty's jaw popped – that was it! The time limit for her temper was waning. "Imagine _that_, shocking!" she spat the words like sewage.

Shard raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He walked across the room and filled a cup with water from the cooler. "Drink this, you're dehydrated. I'm going to get you some soup. Have you a flavor preference?"

Misty gaped at him -- was this Rocket _really_ taking a food order for her? "No," Misty snapped loudly. "I don't care."

"Very well," Shard stood up to his full height, clearly unphased by her curtness. "Would you also care for some magazines? The current issue of _Water Pokemon_ has a terrific article about the pre-evolution of Seel."

Misty seethed. Was Shard now attempting to engage her in conversation about Pokemon? There was no way that he was even receiving the dignity of a response. NO WAY! Misty held her head high, blatantly ignoring him.

Shard only continued: "Have you seen the article yet? It came out this morning. A Seel was located off of the Seafoam islands without a horn. The article maps out an incredible genetic chart."

_What is he talking about? That can't be true. _Misty thought bitterly. _I am a water Pokemon expert. If something this major had been discovered I would have been the first to hear about it -- certainly before this guy! There is NO pre-evolved form of Seel._

Shard smirked that unbearably annoying smirk again, he could tell that she did not agree with the theory he was presenting. This only seemed to egg him onward: "A blood test revealed that this Pokemon had the potential to perform a sort of _Cotton Spore_ attack. When trained, the Pokemon unleashed the attack in battle. It is also far smaller than a normal Seel and repeats the word '_Sweel'. 'Sweel_' as in with a '_W'_. It might be part grass-type. More fascinating still is that it carries antibodies which would make it immune to fire."

Misty could endure it no longer. Her temper had been rising like volcanic lava and it inevitably erupted: "What! I didn't hear anything about this! That would be huge news. And I am NOT an idiot, I understand that '_Sweel' _would have a '_W'!_" She barely refrained from kicking him in the knee. She HATED it here! She wanted to go home! She wanted to be in Ash's arms! Instead she was stuck in this terrible Rocket base having some Know-It-All Rocket trying to debate _her_ – the expert of this field – on Seels! It was horrendous!

Shard tapped a finger to his chin thoughtfully. Her outburst caused him not even a flinch. "Oh, of course you wouldn't have heard the Sweel news. It all leaked a few hours ago. You missed it, what with being abducted and all. Apologies for that, Miss."

If Misty were an Arbok she would have spewed _Acid_ all over him! How disgustingly haughty he was! What the hell was wrong with him? He not only knew how to treat head injuries but read_ Water Pokemon _as well?_ Water Pokemon _was a scientific journal. The scientific jargon alone made it impossible for the average person to comprehend. Ash could never get through a sentence without complaining of a migraine. It was a journal written by professors for professors. The only reason Misty attempted to read it was because her business was_ understanding_ water Pokemon. At times even _she_ struggled to understand the texts.

"Bring me that magazine," she snarled, surprising herself by just how much she sounded like a Granbull. Misty was not going to get into some debate with this Rocket. Communicating with him like he was a normal person was beyond the realm of awkward. She would see the magazine and then judge HERSELF on whether or not a _Sweel _was a real Pokemon. Not that it mattered. Misty had far graver problems at the present time, but reading about this topic might be a tolerable way of passing time until the Rockets decided to what to do with her.

"Okay then," Shard seemed pleased that Misty had finally shown interest in his magazine. He headed toward the door, but stopped abruptly and faced her. "By the way, congratulations on your engagement, Miss Waterflower. Per our discussion earlier, I do not want to have to kill you. Ketchum will make the trade, you'll see. He will be reasonable. Surly he values his _fiancée _over _a Pokemon_." There was a biting edge to his words.

Misty was unable to restrain her words: "You don't even know Ash! How could you possibly dare to make that assumption? How- " Misty's retort was interrupted -- the door unexpectedly opened, revealing a grinning Glare. The blond marched into the room as if it were her own.

"Yes?" Shard asked, his tone alluding that he did not care for the answer.

Glare strolled past Shard, casually examining her nails. "The message was delivered. Fearow 33 took it straight to the Indigo Plateau."

Misty's heart sank like a rock in the sea. Glare's report confirmed her deepest fear: Ash knew what was going on. He would be an emotional train wreck right now.

"Good. Anything else?" Shard folded his arms across his chest, he wanted to drive the point home that she dulled him.

"Yeah," Glare sneered, "The Boss wants us to take pictures every 24 hours. Bloody, gory, nasty ones. You know, to keep Ketchum riled up."

Shard's expression went ridged. His fingers frisked anxiously through his blue spikes of hair. "That's absurd," he barked. "I'm going to deal with this immediately." Shard faced Misty. "I'll be back. Glare wont harm you, don't worry. She wouldn't dare." Shard pushed past Glare, his body language sending an unspoken threat to the blond. He quickly disappeared down the hall. He was seemingly very anxious to speak to his boss. Misty's heart began to thunder in her chest. If Shard failed to get through to his boss then she was going to be beaten again after all. Right now she had no choice but to put her faith in Elite Rocket Shard . . . if he was willing to stand up for her then Misty would let him.

Misty glanced to the side nervously. It was just her and Glare now.

Glare did what she did best and eyed Misty with her executioners stare. Misty repressed a shudder, choosing to avert her eyes from this assault. Instead Misty peered down at her own feet, she was still wearing her high heel shoes from dinner with Ash. She really wished that Glare would leave so that she could raid that cupboard and see what warmer attire Shard had provided for her. Her toes were freezing and she hoped to find some socks or slippers.

Glare cleared her throat obnoxiously loud. "You know," she began smugly. Misty did not look up, she did not want to grant this wench any of her attention. Glare was not deterred and continued: "The Boss may have placed Shard in charge of _this _particular operation, but, _I _actually out-rank him in Rocket hierarchy. Did you know that?" Glare didn't pause long enough to let Misty answer, she just continued. "I didn't think so. Basically what I am trying to say, Miss Waterflower, is that you should not get use to any kindness while you are here. Trust me, it's temporary. Charming Mr. Shard will not be around much longer to look out for you."

Misty glanced up now. "What do you mean?"

Glare giggled mockingly. "Oh, nothing much," she twirled her hair casually about her fingers. "Forget I said anything, k?" she batted her eyelashes with grossly exaggerated innocence.

Misty looked away again. This woman was really getting on her nerves but Misty reminded herself that it didn't really matter what this broad had to say. Glare was probably just a liar and trying to scare her. Not that it mattered since Misty faced death anyway. But still . . .

Misty had to admit that Glare's words were . . . troubling, at the very most. So far Shard had been the only Rocket to show her any compassion or sympathy what-so-ever. If something happened to him Misty had no doubt that she would be tortured until killed. It wasn't that she gave a damn about Shard's well-being -- it was that _his _well-being had unfortunately become tied to her own.

_Glare is lying, _Misty insisted to her self. _She is trying to scare you, to break you. She's attacking your emotions because she is too afraid of Shard to attack you physically. Ignore her. She's nothing but Rocket trash._ Misty nodded, her inner pep-talk had boosted her moral somewhat.

Glare's cell phone began to jingle in her pocket and the Rocket was quick to answer it. "Hey, Remi. What's going on?"

Misty tremored involuntarily, she assumed that '_Remi' _was short for _'Remington'._ That man frightened her. Glare giggled impishly in response to whatever Remington was saying to her. "Okay, you know I'll be there. I can't wait, baby. Later." Glare put her cell phone away -- completely uncaring that Misty had just eavesdropped on her conversation. It was plainly obvious that Glare and Remington had _more _than just a simple co-worker relationship.

Glare sauntered toward Misty, but Misty continued to disregard her. "You see," Glare exclaimed excitedly. "Very soon either Remington or myself will be leading Team Rocket. There is _no way _that _Pretty-Boy-Brain_ is going to threaten what should be one of ours. The only reason Shard has even made it this far in the company is because he constantly sucks up to The Boss." Glare proceeded to walk around the room examining the furniture.

Misty sat still. She did not want to make any movements which would give Glare the excuse to berate her. Furthermore, Misty did not want to encourage Glare to continue her current line of speech. Misty had no idea why Glare was even telling her this information in regard to Shard. Clearly Glare had it in for Shard and wanted him gone. Did she actually expect Misty to share her opinion? Quite frankly, Misty didn't even give a Rattata's ass about the future of Team Rocket – unless of course it was finally going to be destroyed.

After a few tense moments Glare made her way toward the exit. "Well, I'm off. I'd say '_nice chatting with you', _but you were rather lax at adding to the conversation. Remind me never to invite you to a party, k?" with another wry giggle Glare strut out of the room.

Misty was left alone with her thoughts. And her thoughts warned her that she'd inadvertently been sucked into an even more complex disaster. Her kidnapping was not the only crime being plotted here. There was an obvious power-struggle surging within Team Rocket. Misty had unwillingly become a pawn in the Pokemon ransom demand. And now she found her self an involuntarily pawn in Glare and Shard's internal strife.

Misty's buried her face in her hands. An ominous instinct lurked inside her mind, this instinct clawed at her brain until she was forced to acknowledge it.

And instinct told Misty that her blood would not be spilling alone.

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AUTHORS NOTE: Phew, that was a long one, eh? Though it looks kiddy-length next to those last few chapters of "Watch Your Back" heh heh. I hope you all liked this chapter. I spent a really long time on this one. I would very much appreciate it if you would take a moment to leave a review and tell me your opinion. Reviews help me write. Thank you, Maia's Pen.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

If the boss of Team Rocket stood beside you in a coffee shop line you would never suspect it. He did not seem dangerous at all. There was nothing even slightly suspicious in his appearance. Nothing to indicate that he possessed a rebellious streak. Not one tattoo decorated his skin, no crazy hair, nor one piercing. Team Rockets boss did not carry a gun or even a small knife upon his person. Rather, he gave the impression of a sophisticated business man. He was handsome, clean cut and always sported the latest pricey dress suit. Although his name was known by all Rockets he was addressed only as _The Boss. _His true name was forbidden to be spoken out loud. Any Rocket caught even whispering his name was executed on the spot. This was the number one rule, for you see, the leader of Team Rocket was also a famous Pokemon Gym Leader. He was a man respected by all -- both inside and outside of his criminal organization. Even the Pokemon Master himself was an unsuspecting acquaintance to this man. Team Rockets boss was none other than the renowned Giovanni of the Viridian City Gym. And Giovanni was truly a master at living a double life.

Giovanni was now a man of fifty five years. His once brown hair had nearly all gone gray, however, the Fates had been kind to Giovanni: his face and build were those of a man ten years younger. Unfortunately, he also had the heart of a man thirty years older . . . but this was a topic few knew about and that he did not choose to dwell upon.

Throughout his years Giovanni had acquired rather expensive taste in all things. Every single room, corridor, computer lab, and training arena within the Team Rocket base was state-of-the-art. Everything – no matter a waste bin or biochemistry equipment – was brand new. Giovanni _only _surrounded himself with the best. Only the finest quality would do. He had steered Team Rocket successfully enough that money was never an issue. The Rocket staff numbered in the hundreds. They were divided into secret locations all over the world. Rockets could be thieves, defenders, killers, or thinkers . . . and in a few rare occasions a Rocket was composed of _all _of these qualities. These very few select Rockets numbered only four. These were known as the _Elites _– Giovanni's personal _Elite Four. _Glare. Shard. Remington. N.K._ HIS _best of the best, capable of bringing down those the Pokemon Master valued so high. And these _Elite _Rockets were the only ones regularly allowed into one very special room of Team Rocket. A room far larger and far finer than any other in the base: The Bosses' office. Giovanni's office was the size of a Pokemon Center and probably contained more Pokeballs. You would not find one Weedle in his personal collection, but, you would find powerful Alakazams; Mightyenas and Gengars; an awe-inspiring Lapras; an undefeated Tyranitarand several supernatural Dragonites and Regirocks. He even had a Porygon and a genetically-created Aerodactyl (to name a few of his favorites). The office walls were decorated with elaborate paintings. These paintings were of his _most _prized Pokemon. One particularly grand frame housed an acrylic rendition of Giovanni's preferred Golem. Another painting displayed Giovanni's beloved Persian. However, the grandest painting of them all hung next to his desk -- it was truly a life-sized work of art! This painting was of a different feline . . . a huge lavender one . . .

_The Pokemon_.

_The Pokemon_ only Master Ketchum had access too. The Pokemon that Team Rocket Boss Giovanni wanted returned to him. _Needed. _Badly. This Pokemon was genetically engineered over _years and years_ of time -- _his_ creation cost Team Rocket millions of dollars. He was created fifteen years ago via residual DNA from the ancient Pokemon _Mew_. Hence, being a man who liked things to the point, Giovanni named the Pokemon _MewTwo_. But unlike the original, MewTwo was a superiorly enhanced clone. Briefly after MewTwo's creation he escaped Giovanni's control. Numerous times Giovanni and his Rockets managed to track MewTwo down, but were never fully successful in apprehending him. Not until six years ago when Giovanni finally discovered MewTwo hiding at Mount Quena. After a furious battle MewTwo was captured and again under Team Rockets control. _This_ was when Giovanni ordered MewTwo to destroy Johto, starting with Goldenrod City. This attack was supposed to convey a message to the world: _Team Rockets power could not be matched_. But instead of an easy victory, that blasted Dragon Master managed to catch Giovanni's creation. The horror! The shame! The outrage!

Giovanni considered only two living beings within the category of _'His Pride & Joy' _only two beings could be included upon his list of _'What Matters Most' – _MewTwo was one of them.

Even now -- with Shard, Glare and Remington in his office circling each other like Murkrows – did Giovanni have a hard time peeling his attention from this painting and back onto his Rockets.

"So you agree with me right, Boss?" Glare pressed, she tapped her fingernails upon his desk impatiently. She was _trying _to hide her irritation, only, her body posture read 'PUSHY' like a flashing neon sign. Giovanni looked to her thoughtfully . . . Glare was a brilliant thinker and an even more brilliant Pokemon handler. She could hunt down and capture almost any Pokemon he asked her for. It was she who single-handedly stole him Porygon from the Silph Co. Although Glare did not excel in formal schooling, she was loaded with street-smarts and could talk dizzying circles around anyone who dared to debate her. She had the potential to lead Team Rocket and make it even more feared than it was now. Glare had been with the company for six years and was fiercely loyal. She was beautiful and deadly, a combination that embodied the ideal Rocket. Despite her attributes Glare possessed some major downfalls: she was constantly on edge, easily bored, and highly rash in her judgments. Her impulsive streak concerned Giovanni. Rockets needed to be like the Persian: intelligent, deadly -- and above all else -- patient. When Glare wanted something she wanted it immediately and she seemed incapable of understanding why fortitude and calm perseverance were key.

"Boss?" the edge in her tone became sharper.

Remington stood next to Glare, his anxious posture mimicking hers. Shard exhaled loudly in protest.

"Yes," the Boss said flatly, stroking the Persian upon his lap. "I agree. We need more pictures."

"But, Sir," Shard spoke calmly, but his offense was evident. "You placed _me _in charge of Miss Waterflower. You placed _me_ at the front of this entire mission. I think my judgment should be entrusted in this decision. I doubt that Ketchum has even had ample opportunity to digest the first photograph. Two is overkill, we'll seem desperate."

"We ARE desperate," Remington spat. He eyed Shard as though he were a rotten Poke'egg. Shard clenched his jaw, but did not verbally acknowledge Remington.

Giovanni examined his Rockets. Glare was his _Number One, _but Shard was second followed closely by Remington. These two men were also capable of leading Team Rocket. He could envision them both launching the Rockets to new heights of success. Remington was nearly ten years older than both Glare and Shard and had been with Team Rocket since he was but a child. Remington was a weapons expert. He could both take and dole out orders without hesitation. His specialty was tracking Dark and Ghost types of Pokemon, and, he could wield his Pokemon with unmatched vigor. Had Remington not joined Team Rocket, Giovanni did not doubt that he could have become a member of the Plateaus Elite Four. But, like Glare, Remington also had serious flaws: he lacked compassion. He lacked tact. He lacked dignity. And, above all, his tongue was brash. He trained his Pokemon harshly, using fear and punishment to drive them. He was also highly _un_diplomatic -- Giovanni regularly spent hours at a time lecturing him on thinking prior to speaking. Remington's faults were unfortunate, Team Rockets next leader had to be capable of discretion. Giovanni often dealt with world leaders in cases of kidnappings, murders, theft and so on. He feared that Remington would be unable to fill his shoes – unable to use subtle words to instill fear in others. Often it was Giovanni's stinging charm that would crumble the intellect of his challengers. Remington's intellect was simply not up to par with Giovanni's – not that Giovanni considered _any_ to match him. Remington was not to blame for these faults -- joining Team Rocket at such a young age did not allow him more than a fifth grade education. Because of this, Remington understood little of the complexity that went into Team Rockets main money maker: Pokemon genetic manipulation. Remington would be unable to communicate with the many scientists they employed. Giovanni was concerned that Remington would bark unrealistic orders and then murder those scientists unable to deliver the impossible results.

Giovanni frowned, turning his attention upon the blue-haired Rocket before him. "Shard," he began. "I do trust you more than you know. You are an excellent Rocket, one of my very best, however new information has just reached me. Once I share it with you I am certain that you will agree with me that more evidence of Miss Waterflower's _dire _state must be sent."

Glare, Shard, and Remington shuffled closer to their bosses' desk. They were like a trio of curious Noctowls – eyes wide and blinking. Giovanni couldn't help but crack a smirk – they clung to his words like life-rafts.

Giovanni fixed his concentration upon Shard. The young man was nearly perfect -- just as Giovanni had molded him to be. Shard was undeniably impressive physically. Giovanni preferred his Rockets to be young, fit and attractive. The world would never fear a group of over-weight, ugly, old thieves. But eye-appeal was only a minimal requirement. What Giovanni admired most about Shard was his mind. Shard was a tactical mastermind -- wielding all Pokemon type's effortlessly. Although he had not officially completed a Ph.D. program, Shard was loaded with knowledge superior to most professors twice his age. In his youth Shard had attended a notable grammar school and was self taught from then on. He remained composed, detached and cool under even the gravest of circumstances. Shard was well spoken, well mannered and charming. He was also unbelievably quick-witted, Giovanni had to pay extra attention when in Shard's presence or risk missing a clever insult (usually directed at Remington) which Remington never seemed to comprehend. Shard had a tongue like jagged ice and mind far colder and sharper -- he was not easily ruffled. Shard was an expert marksman and Giovanni often used this ability to assassinate foes. Shard could kill without remorse one second and then mend the wounds of a teammate the next. He had _everything_ . . . he was THE ideal Rocket. . .

_. . . except . . ._

Giovanni was concerned about Shard for one reason. Shard's talents and bold personality made him a danger to himself. Shard's skills were blatantly advanced beyond the other Rockets. They all knew it -- and they were all jealous. And Shard knew it as well. Shard's fatal flaw was his ego. Perhaps if Shard were even a _tad_ modest then the others would not detest him so . . . but Elite Rocket Shard was _anything but_ modest. He wore his confidence on his sleeve like diamond cufflinks. And Giovanni knew that diamonds never lasted long in the company of thieves. Shard was a walking Tauros'-eye within these Rocket walls. And . . .

Giovanni knew that the _personal issues_ between Shard and Glare were only escalading problems. Alas, Giovanni did not have the luxury of time to dwell upon these problems right now and therefore he banned them and collected his words: "The reason why we need more evidence of Miss Waterflower's anguish, Shard, is because The Pokemon Master made a public plea via all major television networks today. Ketchum requested that we release his fiancée, and then he offered us a ransom of one million dollars. There was no mention of my Pokemon."

"Insult!" Glare slammed her fists against his desk, her green eyes blazing. "Ketchum knows we don't want the cash. He is stalling for time. He's up to something, Boss. I bet he's got that damn Dragon Master engineering something while he attempts to stall us."

Giovanni nodded. "Yes, Glare. You are as intuitive as always. You are exactly correct. This million dollar offer is naught but a ploy to stall us. I suspect Lance is conjuring some sort of pathetic rescue attempt." Giovanni faced Shard now. "So you see, Shard, we need to send a much graver message. We'll not be insulted by offers of mere cash."

Glare was nodding along vigorously with everything that Giovanni was saying. "Boss, let me handle this. This situation is getting you all worked up. You are finally retiring this year, and with your heart condition . . . oh, Boss, this stress is not good for you. I can't bear to see you so concerned. Shard is out of his league here, let me handle this! I want to prove to you once and for all that _I _am the best choice to lead Team Rocket."

Shard grunted mockingly. "Don't insult the Boss with your phony concern. He's not some frail little Oddish."

Remington shoved Shard backward. "Say that again, Pretty-Boy! I dare you!"

"Enough!" Giovanni rose now, his Persian leapt upon the desk to hiss at all three of them. The three Rockets instantly stood at attention. "You three are my very best Rockets. But your inability to cooperate disturbs me. We are a _TEAM! _I did not call this organization simply The _Rockets. _All three of you are more than qualified to run the organization after my retirement. I will announce my chosen successor soon enough. BE PATIENT! In the meantime you need to concentrate solely on the task at hand -- not on this petty squabbling. Each one of you has an important task to carry out now. And I assure you that I will not retire until my Pokemon is back with me. If that takes twenty more years, then damnit, I'll stay here twenty more years. But quite frankly I am ready to take my Pokemon and retire. Therefore, I order more pictures to be sent Ketchum's way _today_. . ." Giovanni hesitated, thinking. "No, better yet, take a short digital video. Smack Miss Waterflower around, make sure she screams."

"With all due respect, Sir," Shard could also be quite stubborn, but Giovanni could not fault him for this as he too embodied the trait. "This is overkill. I suggest we fake it – have Miss Waterflower scream. I'm certain she can act the part-"

"No, Shard. A dramatization will not be convincing enough. It needs to be real. We will not be hitting Miss Waterflower in any vital organs, and if we do I have no doubt that you can mend her. And if not you, then that is why I employ and entire sick ward full of doctors."

"Sir-"

"Shard, if you can not handle this task then I shall assign Miss Waterflower's charge to Remington."

Shard inhaled carefully. "That won't be necessary, Sir. I'll make sure that the video is shot and sent immediately."

"Good. Let it be done now."

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Shard, Remington and Glare stood outside of Miss Waterflower's chamber.

Glare's hands were busy holding a small digital camcorder. Her feet were preoccupied with thumping the floor. She thumped her boots against the ground as though the thudding-sounds would magically spur her teammates to move faster. Remington took note of this and began punching a code into the doors keypad, only, Shard raised a hand to stop him. Glare thumped her boots louder.

"I am going to take care of Miss Waterflower," Shard stated, blocking the doorway.

Remington laughed, rolling his eyes as though Shard had just proclaimed that he could fly. "What? _You?_ I'll believe that when I see it."

"I am in charge. I'll take care of her. Glare, just keep the camera on. The video will be no longer than a minute. We don't want to overdue it. We are not out to seriously harm Miss Waterflower – just to make our point."

Glare was practically stomping in place now.

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The blanket felt like Flareon fur – soft and warm. Misty pressed her face into the fabric – she could feel her chilled cheeks unthawing. She was exhausted, she barely had the energy to pull the blanket over her body. Misty knew that she _had _to sleep, but the thought of actually napping _here _was unnerving. If she allowed herself to lose consciousness would she ever wake up again? What if the Rockets decided to kill her in her sleep? As her eyelids lulled shut, Misty realized that it was a risk that she was going to have to take. She had been awake now for a very long time- how long she was clueless -- and her body was pleading for a moments rest. After Glare left, Misty had finally indulged in a hot shower and changed out of her summer dress. Shard had provided her with several clothing choices. Misty had settled upon a green turtleneck sweater and some blue jeans. Surprisingly these clothes fit her almost perfectly. Her toes were also now enjoying the warmth of a pair of socks. Misty buried her face beneath the fluffy pillow, the turquoise shade was rather soothing . . . Misty allowed her eyes to finally shut. . .

Her solace was fleeting.

Without warning the metal door slid open. The door emitted a series of panicked electronic beeps – they were like a dozen deafening alarm clocks. Misty was jolted to full alert. She did not want to look out from under the pillow. It was possible that only Shard stood there -- soup and a magazines in hand. But it was also possible that Remington or Glare was there and ready to harm her.

Horror chewed at Misty's insides. Anxiety gnawed at her brain. Her heart was pounding -- lungs aching with apprehension, stomach lurching from distress . . . her throat contracted, squeezing vomit up her espouse like toothpaste from a tube . . . Misty nearly retched all over her clean clothes. Her eyes blurred with disgust as she choked the acidic liquid down. This was the second time she had swallowed vomit to avoid the Rockets seeing her fall apart.

Gathering her courage, Misty pushed the pillow aside and peered at the doorway. . .

She saw Shard, Remington and Glare.

_Why are all three of them here?_

Remington and Glare were smirking at her; their cruel lips seemed to mock Misty for daring a moment of comfort. Shard seemed . . . tense. Misty noticed that he did not have any soup or magazines with him. But she did notice that Glare held a camcorder . . .

_Oh no!_ Misty bolted upright in bed. _What are they going to do to me?_

Misty looked to Shard – her eyes were wild with disarray, she wanted to know what the hell as going on! Shard was expressionless and Misty immediately cursed herself for being so stupid. Stupid enough to believe that Elite _Rocket_ Shard might actually be willing to stand up for her. Misty hoped that he could see the terror in her eyes, the disgust aimed at him! And Misty also wished that she could see any trace of remorse in his . . . only, of course she could not. All Misty could see was that loathsome mask. But if Shard wanted to hide behind it, then fine_. The coward!_

Misty kicked the blankets aside and stood up. She still felt weak but at least she was no longer handcuffed -- she would not go down without a fight.

Glare leaned against the wall, casually pointing the camcorder at Misty as though she were filming a family holiday.

Misty studied Remington . . . the man was very muscular . . . big . . . he was just standing there, watching her . . . Misty braced herself -- when Remington came at her she was going to be ready! Misty was going to kick him square between the legs!

But. . .

Remington did not come at her.

Several seconds crawled by and the man merely stood back, not even inching toward her.

Nerves stiffened Misty's limbs like an _Ice Beam _attack. No one was talking. No one was moving. Then, Misty's attention flickered to Shard. Shard _was_ moving – approaching her at a Slowpoke's pace. Misty shook her head, carefully slinking backward. "Shard?" she yelled. "Don't!"

Shard exhaled, turning back to Glare. "Start the camera now."

"You got it, _Sir_."

Misty balled her fists, shouting: "Wait! What are you doing?"

Shard did not acknowledge Misty's demand, instead he came _at_ her! Shard's hands were instantly upon her wrists – he was _strong, _his fingers clenching her like a deadlock. Misty squirmed, but Shard easily overpowered her. Without any strain he pushed her backward, Misty tumbled upon the bed. She screamed at him, irate curse words flying from her lips. When words failed to deter him Misty kicked! She felt her foot make contact with his thigh, but Shard only grunted. Her kicked had caused minimal discomfort and the Elite Rocket was far from dissuaded.

"STOP!" Misty wailed, desperate to cease his assault. "What are you doing?"

Shard uttered no reply. Misty gaped up at him, she was lying on her back now and he was looming over her. His hand made abrupt contact with her cheek. Misty gasped, more startled than actually hurt. Shard had . . . slapped her? She had expected a knuckled punch.

Next Shard reached forward -- forcefully seizing the bandage from Misty's head. This action ripped the forming scabs from her scalp, her old wounds re-opened and new blood dripped down her face. Misty cried out, her scalp stinging with pain. Shard then snatched a fistful of her hair, jerking Misty's head toward him and slapping her three more times. Misty yelped, her jaw and cheeks were burning. The blood was now mating in her eyelashes. Misty swore at him over and over again. Shard was not finished: he grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her upright and off of the bed. Misty smacked his face but Shard did not react, instead he threw her back down! Misty sank into the mattress, her limbs tangling within the bed sheets. This act knocked the air from her lungs, Misty gasped, trashing her arms against Shard's untiring grip.

"Stop," Shard stated suddenly, pulling his hands from Misty.

Misty scrambled upright. She was trembling, a blend of frustration and rage bubbling within her. She blinked against the blood in her eyes and rubbed her stinging cheeks. Misty moved her fingers across her face, checking for any new wounds. Luckily nothing felt swollen or broken. Shard had slapped her and pushed her around, but he did not actually damage her. His strikes were all open-handed, not closed fists. Misty was relieved, but confused.

"That was decent, Shard," Glare commented dully. "Ripping off the bandage was a nice touch . . . although, now Ketchum will see that her wounds were tended to in the first place-"

"That won't matter," Shard severed her words. "Ketchum won't be focusing on that. He'll be focusing on the fact that his fiancée is being beaten. And even so, Ketchum can reason that we obviously have to keep her alive. Miss Waterflower is of no value dead."

"Fair enough," Remington yawned, moseying toward the exit. "Are we done here? I've got things to do."

Shard nodded. "Glare get that video to the Indigo Plateau today."

"Yuppers," Glare saluted him mockingly, and then she and Remington headed out the door. Misty did not move until the door hissed shut behind them. Her sight fixed accusingly upon Shard. She might not have the official codename but Misty was just as capable of a malevolent glare. She hurled her most potent stare at the masked Rocket.

"I'll bandage your head," Shard stated, ignoring Misty's anger.

Misty stood up woozily, but held her ground. "Don't you dare come near me! You told me that I would not be beaten if I complied with your horrible Rocket wishes. I have been extremely compliant!" Misty pressed her hand to her scalp, hoping the pressure would stop the bleeding.

Shard sighed, brushing blue hair from his mask. He frowned . . . and, if Misty were not already convinced of his horribleness, she might actually have thought that he looked sorry. "Miss Waterflower, I am not the boss around here. Your beating was an _order. _It had to be carried out by someone. I thought it better myself than Remington. I apologize."

"Well you can stuff your apology up your ass."

Shard approached her, reaching for her arm. Misty recoiled, swatting at him as though he were a Venonat. Like before, Shard gained the upper hand, he pushed her backward until she tumbled upon the bed. Misty lay there, gawking at him, seething. Her blood was ruining the turquoise pillow -- Misty wanted to sock him over the head with it!

"Sit still, I'll re-dress your head," Shard stated calmly. Was he totally oblivious to her fury? What was wrong with him? Misty's temper surged upward, the blood in her veins felt as though it were about to boil and explode from her skin. Shard had an extreme knack for infuriating the hell out of her and then playing coy to her rage! Granted, Misty was relived that Remington was not allowed to touch her -- she might be nearly dead if he had. And, granted also, that Shard had not seriously harmed her. But how dare he break his word! Misty exhaled . . . Shard was a Rocket, and Rockets did not keep their word. They were traitorous liars. She knew this. So why was she even surprised? Why did she even feel the sting of betrayal?

Misty had learned her lesson.

"I don't want you to re-dress my head! I don't want you to touch me at all. EVER!" Misty swung at him with her fist again, but her wooziness caused her to miss by an embarrassing amount of space.

Shard chose not to comment on her terrible aim. "Calm down, will you? If you never allow me to touch you again _ever _then who is going to stop all that bleeding?"

"YOU caused it!" Misty fumed.

"You know that I was barely hurting you. I had to make it look rough. I did nothing but slap your cheeks and push you into the _soft _bed. I probably saved you from a Remington-induced coma. Think about it and stop being difficult."

"I was going to kick Remington in his balls, but I aught to kick you there instead! And I will if you come near me."

Shard took on a queasy expression. "You wouldn't dare."

"Wanna bet!"

Shard visibly hesitated. He seemed to be calculating whether or not she was physically sound enough to back up that threat. After a moment he took a small step backward, apparently he was not going to chance it. "I can understand why you would think that I deserve that, but you need to calm down and be obedient. I can't protect you if you continue to spiral out of control like this."

"Spiral out of control? Oh, that's it! How dare you! You just slapped me around and _filmed it_ in order to break my fiancés heart. Damn right I'm out of control. And I'm going to kick you between the legs SO hard! I only hope you've got enough junk in there to feel the pain. Of course, I'm not so certain," Misty pointed to the massive gun strapped across Shard's back. "A man who carries a gun _that _size is sure to be making up for _other _shortcomings."

Shard cracked a slight grin, Misty expected him to scowl. "Oh, on the contrary, Miss Waterflower," he held a teasing air in his tone. "Haven't you heard the saying? _The bigger the mans gun the bigger the mans-_"

Misty covered her ears. "Stop right there! Leave me alone. I'd rather bleed to death here and now than listen to YOU or be a part of this sick plan any longer."

"Fine." Shard was no longer amused. His voice was crisp and the grin had vanished. "The medical kit is still under the bed. I suggest your take it into the bathroom and try and re-dress your head. I'm leaving to get your soup and magazines. I'll be back shortly. Hopefully by then you'll cool down enough to realize that I was trying to spare you further injury." Shard turned quickly and exited the room.

Misty rushed into the bathroom and retched, finally vomiting the sour bile in her stomach. She only wished that she could so easily expel her fear.

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Author's Note: Thank you for reading! Please leave a review. I would really appreciate some feedback. I am working very hard on this story. I would like to know what you enjoy or do not. THANK YOU SO MUCH! Maia's Pen.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The Rockets did not buy Lance's ploy to stall for time. It wasn't that Ash had _actually thought _they would accept a mere million dollars in exchange for a priceless Pokemon but he certainly was _not_ prepared for the barbaric response which he received. Team Rocket replied to the monetary offer with a horrifying video . . . one which depicted Misty being brutalized. Brutalized by some male Rocket twice her size. She was helpless.

It was gruesome.

It was unnecessary.

It caused Ash to turn his office wall into a punching bag. Three broken fingers later, Ash realized that there was nothing he could do. Thank goodness for Lance, who instructed him to calm down -- who advised Ash to save his rage for the bastard that was hitting her. Ash intended to do just that.

Lance and Ash expected the Rockets to reject the money-bribe, but their retaliation was far quicker and far more violent than either man had anticipated. Misty appeared to be suffering a great deal in that video. Ash's memory would not cease its torture upon him – every time he closed his eyes he could see her face – twisted in pain, crying out, begging her assaulter to stop! Ash trembled as the memory plagued him once more. He HAD to save Misty. He could NOT endure one more video or photograph of her being harmed . . . one more reminder that he was powerless to aid her . . .

The great Pokemon Master Ketchum was helpless.

Ash just prayed that Misty could hang on. He knew that she was a strong woman—the strongest– but undergoing such physical punishment was bound to break her if he failed to save her soon.

Ash was griping the edge of a nervous-breakdown – he needed to grasp whatever positives were tangled within this nightmare. If he didn't, he would surely lose his mind. Lance had reached out, reeling Ash's wits in with some strong reasons to be hopeful. For starters, Lance had reminded him that the million dollar offer HAD bought them some time. Also, earlier -- during Ash's meeting with his Elite Four, Professor Elm, and Officer Jenny -- Lance had presented a brilliant plan. Not only had Lance strategized a brilliant plan A, but a plan B as well. Ash's sanity now had many-a-rope to cling too -- he only hoped that the Rockets would follow along with plan A . . . he wanted Misty back in his arms before plan B had to be elicited.

Ash focused his thoughts upon plan A. He had to understand every detail perfectly. A few hours ago Lance had flown the nations top Ditto to the Plateau, this Pokemon had begun immediate training. The goal: for Ditto to _perfectly _mimic the appearance and behavior of the genetic monster Pokemon. The Ditto was flown under the strictest conditions of privacy. Lance was not taking any chances: he was training this Ditto personally. The Ditto had to be a flawless copy. Once the Ditto's training was complete (which Lance seemed to think would take less than a day) they would wait for the Rockets to contact them again, and to arrange details for swapping Misty for the fake. Ash knew that the Rockets would get to determine the location and time of the swap, but that didn't matter, all that mattered was that he would hand over a phony _Masterball _with the Ditto. The Rockets would most likely release the Pokemon (_to be sure it was their monster_) and the Ditto would –hypothetically -- then already be in monster form and equipped with some basic psychic attacks. Team Rocket would leave with their Pokemon and Ash would leave with Misty. Ideally, by the time the Rockets realized they had been duped, it would be too late. It was a terrific plan. . .

It just HAD to work.

Ash embraced this plan as though every fiber of Misty's being were woven within it . . . this plan was the hand yanking his mind from the edge, keeping him sane. The little Ditto was as brave as they came, Ash reminded himself, and also a true master at holding form. It was prepared to die, but was given instructions to transform and escape at the first available opportunity.

There was, of course, a chance that Team Rocket would suspect a phony and somehow find out . . . in which case Misty's situation would become rapidly lethal. But, it was a chance that Ash had to take. He could not truly free the Rockets Pokemon and there was no guarantee that Lance's plan would succeed. The only guarantee was that Misty would die if he didn't TRY. With this plan . . . she had a chance.

And, there always was plan B. . .

But Ash prayed that it wouldn't come to that. For everyone's sake.

Right now Ash was in his office. Alone. He had sent Pikachu out to help Lance train the Ditto. Ash needed time to think, to prepare himself for the possibility that he may never hold his fiancée again. Then, quite unexpectedly, Ash's cell phone began to ring. The word "LANCE" flashed across the Caller ID and Ash was quick to answer.

"Yes?" Ash knew that he sounded desperate.

"Things are going better than expected," came Lance. "A Rocket Zubat just dumped a letter off at the front door. The Rockets are _demanding_ that we meet them at the old Pewter City stone quarry. TONIGHT. Eleven PM. We can NOT be late. They expect us both, but no others. They are prepared to make the swap."

Ash glanced at his clock—it was eight in the morning. "Is Ditto ready?"

"It will be by eleven tonight. Don't worry, Ash. Misty will be in your arms by midnight."

Ash breathed a bit easier, but his heart beat like a foreboding war drum. "Thank you, Lance."

"Of course," Lance meant it.

A friend like Lance was rarer than an Articuno. Lance helped because he could, not because he had anything to gain. Lance would be risking his very life tonight and Ash would never forget it.

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Misty Waterflower buried her face between her hands – her fingers becoming a temporary mask, shielding her sorrows from the world. But then the façade of Elite Rocket Shard crept into her minds-eye and Misty quickly set her hands aside— she was not a coward like him. Despite the despair which engulfed her, Misty would hide from no one.

Tears blurred her vision now but she beat them back with her lashes. These were not tears of self-pity, but rather those wrought from physical pain. Misty had spent the last hour pressing a bandage against her scalp-- it had been bleeding heavily-- but had finally stopped. Due to Shard's assault there were a few red marks across her cheeks, however, he had not broken skin on her face. Misty was going to be okay . . . at least for the time being.

With a heavy sigh Misty allowed herself to fall backward into the sheets of her prison bed. The sheets and comforter were splotched with dried blood, but Misty was too weary to care. She closed her eyes . . .

"Miss Waterflower?"

Misty pulled the comforter over her head and rolled over.

"Miss Waterflower?"

Misty groaned and pressed her face into the sheets. It couldn't be time to get up already.

"_MISS_ Waterflowrer?"

"W-what?" Misty mumbled, rubbing her eyes. "What time is it-" Realization suddenly slammed her like a wrecking-ball. Misty's eyes snapped open, her pulse banged behind her eardrums. For a brief moment Misty had thought that she was home. In her own bed. With Ash. But Ash would never wake her with a _"Miss Waterflower"._

Misty bolted upright, frazzled and alarmed. As her sight focused the shape of a young man began to form . . . he had spiky blue hair and wore a mask.

"Shard?" Misty squeaked. His name was all she could muster -- her adrenaline pulsated at light speed, hindering her ability to think straight.

Shard was leaning over her, he seemed concerned. "Hi," he smiled softly. "I'm sorry to wake you, Miss Waterflower, but you've been asleep for seven hours and-"

"SEVEN HOURS?" Misty shook her head. "No, no, I just lay down a moment ago. I'm certain of it. I . . . at least, I thought so. I. . ." Misty's voice escaped her. She paused, realizing that she _did_ feel unbelievably rested considering all she had been through.

Shard smiled again. "Often those things we regard as certain can surprise us with their uncertainty."

Misty stiffened. Those were very familiar words. "What did you just say?"

"What do you mean?" Shard asked thoughtfully.

"That saying," Misty continued. "Repeat it."

"Often those things we regard as certain can surprise us with their uncertainty."

Misty relaxed now, in fact, she _almost_ matched his grin. It had been a long time since she had heard that expression uttered, Misty was startled by the comfort she received from such mere words. "A great man I once knew, a professor, he use to say that all the time." Misty explained.

Shard tilted his head, curious. "Oh?"

Misty nodded. "He's gone now . . . dead."

"I'm sorry," Shard sounded sincere, but, as always Misty could not tell if he was being genuine.

"You should be sorry," Misty's tone burned like a hot poker. "_Your _monster Pokemon murdered him."

There was no reaction from Shard. Misty decided to let it go. She lowered her gaze. She did not want to argue with him about anything right now. Granted, she _was_ still infuriated with him for smacking her around after he _promised_ that he would watch out for her, but, after getting some sleep, the sensible part of Misty told her that Shard really did not want to hurt her, and, that he truly was keeping the punishment as light as he could. Misty understood that it was either Shard handled her or she would incur the wrath of Remington. Remington, no doubt, would have caused far worse damage than a scalp wound.

Shard shifted his weight, drawing Misty's attention. "I brought you some soup and the issue of _Water Pokemon Monthly_ with the _Sweel _feature. I came by with everything hours ago but you were out cold."

Misty's stomach growled at just the _mention_ of food. "Where's the soup!" her voice resembled a starving Swinub.

Shard walked across the room and retrieved a large bowl -- steam was wafting from the top. As Shard stepped closer a delicious aroma surrounded Misty.

"Since you failed to tell me what kind you wanted," Shard began, "I took the liberty of ordering you _my_ favorite soup, Broccoli, Potato and Cheddar."

Misty snatched the soup from his hands, tossed the spoon aside, and began guzzling it straight from the bowl. It was wonderfully warm, flavorfully rich! The ingredients were fresh -- not half bad for Rocket food!

Shard grunted with amusement. "I guess I chose _your_ favorite as well."

Misty didn't answer him. She wouldn't want to admit that she had a favorite anything in common with a Rocket. After a short moment she had drained the bowl of all soup remnants. Her stomach gurgled happily, she had been hungrier than she thought.

"The magazine is here on the nightstand," Shard pointed and then knelt down before Misty, he seemed to be assessing the damage he had caused her face. "How are you feeling?"

"I don't know," Misty sighed, honestly. "I'm heart-sick, I miss my family. . . I miss Ash. But I suppose you only care about my physical state: my head hurts and my muscles are sore and achey."

Shard stood up to his full height, Misty had to crane her neck to follow him. Shard seemed to be contemplating something. "Well," he spoke finally. "I can't do anything about your heart-ache, but I can do something about your muscle-ache. How would you like to go swimming?"

"What!" Shard might as well have asked her to ride a Weedle into town. Misty was wholly taken aback by his offer. "Swimming?" she asked, just to be certain she had heard him correctly.

"Yes," he nodded, straight-faced. "We have a nice training pool here – it's in-ground, reasonably heated and professional-training size. I can get you a Rocket swimsuit and you'll be all set."

Misty knew that she should refuse his offer. Sensible judgment warned her that she should not accept _any_ charity or go anyplace with this man. But, her favorite place to be-- in the world-- was water. And . . . if the Rockets killed her soon, then this could very well be her last chance to swim. Ever. Misty was tempted. Very tempted . . . and she knew that Shard was picking up on that. An irritatingly brief smirk teased his lips– but not because he was getting her to swim, but because _she_ _was trusting_ _him_ enough to do it.

Misty did not have to verbally accept Shard's offer her wide eyed silence answered for him. Shard nodded. "Miss Waterflower, I will have to blindfold you to take you to the pool. And, I'll have to remain in the pool vicinity while you swim, but, other than me you will have complete privacy. No one is training right now, it's mid-day and everyone is working. The water will be excellent for your muscles. Besides, you need to exercise and move around, it's not healthy to be cooped up in this room."

"I'm not here by choice-"

"I know that. I'm simply trying to make this bearable for you until Ketchum makes the trade."

"Ash will never agree. I'm certain." Misty felt like a dying echo . . . how many times would she swear those words to Shard before then end? Before he would be forced to kill her because of their truth?

Shard chose not to echo along with her; he instead pulled a blindfold from his pocket, stood up and signaled her to follow him. "Often those things we regard as certain can surprise us with their uncertainty." There was an over-confidence in his voice this time. . .

"Do you know something?" Misty reached forward and gripped Shard's wrist, pulling him to face her.

Shard did not wrestle from her grasp. "We have been in contact with Ketchum. He has agreed to swap you for the Pokemon. The details are still being worked out, Miss Waterflower, but it looks as though you may be back with your fiancé by tonight."

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Misty swam quietly along the edge of the pool. Her thoughts weighed her down like an anchor. She swam vigorously against the tremendous mental burden. It would be so easy to just stop swimming, to relax . . . to sink. Ash would never trade over the monster for a corpse. She was worthless dead, and, with her gone then the rest of the world would be spared. Misty sucked fresh air into her lungs and dove deep below the surface. With the skill of a Dewgong she sliced through the water, zipping from one end of the pool to the next. Although she entertained the thought, suicide was not Misty's forte.

As Misty came up for air, her eyes soaked in her surroundings. As much as she hated to admit it, the pool was perfect. It was just as Shard had described, the water was luke-warm and embraced every centimeter of her skin in liquid solace. Who knew that Team Rocket would have a gym-sized, in ground, indoor pool! A pool that was better than her own in Cerulean City. Shard had given her a swimsuit and allowed her into the women's locker-room to change. The swimsuit was a modest one-piece, black in color with the letters _TR _stitched over the chest. She hated to adorn the logo, but she had little other options. As Misty's eyes continued to survey the area, she noticed just how much the Rocket's loved their _TR_ logo—it was painted on all four walls. Other than the logo, this poolroom was fairly standard—white walls, cement flooring and a few lawn chairs and sun lamps. There were no windows or skylights however. Misty could gain no further clue as to where she was.

Misty dove beneath the water again and through the blue haze she watched bubbles trickle from her nostrils toward the surface. The bubbles simply floated away and were free. Misty envied them. There was no such escape for her. She was trapped, and, more so, she was highly confused. . .

Shard's information haunted her . . . did Ash truly agree to trade her and release that monster? It couldn't be true! But when Misty pressed Shard for details he said he had none. He told her that they "_would both know soon enough"_. Apparently this _swap_ was going to happen at some point tonight. What was she supposed to do? She wanted to be free, but she could not live with herself if that creature unleashed further havoc upon the world. Should she refuse to go? Could she? Would faking a grave illness stall for time? Perhaps a mental illness? No. . . Misty knew that the Rockets would trade her in no matter how dire her state. Ash would want her back alive no matter what . . . _alive_ being the operative word. For a nano-second Misty considered drowning herself again. She genuinely could not think of a more peaceful way to go, however, she banished the notion once more. She was dammed determined to get back to Ash in one piece . . .

But . . . not at the expense of the world. How could she value her own life above so many others? Misty rose above the water, quietly cursing below her breath. She cast a sideways eye across the poolroom -- on the other side was Shard. He was seated at a patio table and was engrossed within the pages of some seciency-looking magazine. Misty knew that, even if she _did_ try to drown herself, he would no doubt jump in and _save _her before she even got lightheaded. Misty held her breath and went under; she swam furiously to the farthest side of the pool, away from Shard. In a moment she resurfaced, glancing at him again: he hadn't budged. Shard's brow was creased in concentration as he read. He was deeply involved in his magazine. It looked like another Scientific Journal. Misty frowned, this young man was as handsome as they came and clearly as brilliant as any professor . . . beyond that, he was well-spoken and courteous . . . he just was NOT like any other Rocket that Misty had encountered before. He was so beyond _typical_ . . . who the heck was he? Why was he here? Why was he being so nice to her?

Shard now turned away from his magazine and faced Misty. She felt her cheeks burn – she'd been caught staring at him. Shard set his reading aside and stood up. "Have you had enough, Miss Waterflower? Ready to go back to your room?"

Misty shook her head, her fiery-hair flailing droplets everywhere. "No way. I'm just getting started."

Shard shrugged and plopped back down in his chair. "You've been swimming for forty-five minutes, I just assumed you were done."

"No," Misty insisted. "I love water."

"That makes one of us," Shard muttered, easily getting back into his reading.

"You don't like water?" Misty nearly gasped the question. She swam closer to the edge of the pool where Shard sat. She was surprised by her sudden curiosity, but she could not fathom anyone disliking water.

Shard shook his head, not taking his sight from his reading.

"You don't swim?" she asked, eyes wide.

"Nope. Hate it."

"Why?"

Shard set his magazine down, he faced her with a reluctant smile. "I had a bad experience once . . . almost drowned."

"That's awful," Misty meant it. "Can't you swim?"

"Sure I can. Just not then."

Misty opened her mouth to press further -- Shard wasn't making any sense -- but the mysterious Rocket rose to his feet and approached her. "I think we should get going. This place will be filling with off-duty Rockets soon. You'll be safer in your room."

Misty nodded and placed her hands on the pools edge, preparing to hoist herself up and out when suddenly warm hands were upon hers. Misty peered up, Shard was bending over her. He gently pulled her upright. No sooner did Misty's feet hit the pavement did Shard already have a towel outstretched for her. Misty quickly wrapped her dripping body in the towel. Shard took a step back to give her some space. Misty turned away from him, flushing. She was suddenly embarrassed for being so poorly clothed before this strange man. However . . . she was beginning to feel _slightly_ at ease around Elite Rocket Shard. Just _slightly. _Perhaps he truly did want to protect her? While she was swimming Misty noticed that he kept a cautious, yet subtle, eye upon her – like an Arcanine guarding a herd of Mareep – an ever watchful, thoughtful eye . . . but still a masked eye. . .

Misty trembled beneath her towel, but it was not a tremble caused from chill – it was one caused by realization. . .

Perhaps . . . Shard was NOT just some uniformed killer. _There was a person behind that mask_. A deep-thinking, blatantly clever, and -- obviously extremely troubled --person.

_But still a murderer, a kidnapper . . . a Rocket._

Misty pulled her cloths on over the swimsuit, and then walked in blindfolded silence back to her chamber. Shard's hand perched gently on her shoulder, guiding her the entire way. With every footstep Misty wondered what would happen to her when night fell? Was Ash really going to trade her? Would the Rockets really get that monster back? What would happen to her if they did not? What would happen to the world if they did?

Then, abruptly, every blaring question within her skull fell silent. . .

Only one lingering thought remained . . .

Misty remembered Glare's earlier chilling words to her: _"Pretty boy Shard will not be around long to protect you" _and, for the first time since her abduction, Misty's concerns were not for the world, for Ash or herself . . .

If Misty was truly freed tonight . . .

. . . then what would happen to Shard once she was gone?

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Authors Note: Yes, this update is a few months overdue. So sorry! But all the holidays coming up mean extra free time to write for me! I hope this update was enjoyed, and, as always REVIEWS ARE HIGHLY APPRECAITED. You like this story? Let me know. Reviews make my fingers and my imagination merge. (wink) Thank you for reading, Maia's Pen


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Lance the Dragon Master always played by the rules but tonight was an exception. He would sooner lie dead than see Team Rocket controlling that monster again. The Rockets were _not _getting it back. Not for anything. Not even the Pokemon Master's fiancée.

In the Rockets last correspondence they had outlined some strict rules for the swapping of Misty Waterflower for the Pokemon. Lance decided that some rules were made to be broken. The Rockets had specifically demanded that Ash and Lance meet them alone in Pewter cities old stone quarry. _Fine._ Lance and Ash were both, currently, all alone in the middle of the quarry. The Rockets had also demanded that they turn over a_ Masterball_ with their Pokemon inside. _This_ is where the rules were going to be amended. Ash was presently carrying a _very exact_ copy of a _Masterball_ in his coat pocket, and that ball had a _very talented_ Ditto inside. A Ditto which Lance had spent hours training to become a perfect copy of Team Rocket's Pokemon.

Lance used a precise method to train the Ditto. He had begun by showing Ditto some film footage of the monster. Ditto had watched nearly a dozen recorded news tapes of the creature destroying Goldenrod City-- the horrific historical event when the Rockets chose to debut their beast. The graphic events on the news tapes reminded them all why this monster could never be set free, why Team Rocket had to be stopped. At any cost. Ditto was wholly disturbed by the films and took its job seriously. Ditto had memorized the physical characteristics as well as the movements of the creature. Next Lance brought in an array of high level psychic Pokemon. The Ditto was able to quickly learn and copy several basic psychic attacks. After many hours the Ditto was able to hold the physical appearance of the creature, levitate and create psychic beams. Ideally, Lance would have preferred a few more hours to train, but unfortunately, this would have to be enough. Lance just prayed that Team Rocket would buy their charade long enough for them to snatch Misty back.

This plan was incredibly risky to say the least. Lance and Ash were not dealing with idiot Rocket grunts. No doubt the _Rocket Elites _would be handling this case personally. However, this plan was the only chance Misty had. If it failed then she would be a sitting Psyduck in their hands. Naturally Lance had a plan B, but that didn't guarantee Misty would still be alive long enough for them to execute it.

The noble Dragon Master sighed. His heart ached with sympathy for Ash. The young Pokemon Master was like a brother to him and, on some level, Lance felt responsible for this dreadful situation. After all, it was Lance who had encouraged Ash to become the Pokemon Master. It was Lance who encouraged him -- fully knowing the risks involved. Becoming the Pokemon Master meant becoming responsible for protecting the monster from the Rockets. Lance had always known the potential hazard this meant for Ash and his loved-ones. Lance wanted to set everything right again, and, he was determined to exhausted all options in order to do so. He HAD to rescue Misty. And, once this situation was resolved Lance would personally hire the best bodyguards in the country for her. Preferably there would be no future threats to her life, but the preference was not realistic. As long as Misty's was Ash's girl she would be a target for the Rockets. Lance wanted to apprehend all of the Rockets responsible for Misty's kidnapping and let the law punish them properly. Unfortunately, it was impossible to identify them – they all wore masks in public and never left any tracks – never as much as a fingerprint.

Lance felt nauseous as he recalled Team Rocket's most recent video . . ._poor Misty_ . . . he wished that he could find the bastard who was beating her -- he would like to _personally_ return the favor. Lance had sent the video to a government analyzing facility, he had hoped that they could study the video and figure out either where Misty was or the identity of her attacker. Unfortunately, the intelligence personnel knew nothing about Misty's whereabouts and reported little about her blue-haired assailant. What little information _was_ known was unhelpful -- the blue-haired Rocket was a suspect in several major murders – as all Rockets were. Lance could have guessed as much. Also, like all Rockets, he never left any clues. All the authorities had were a few blurry pictures from various crime scenes and of course he adorned a mask in each one. Ah well, apprehending that guy – or any other Rockets for that matter-- would just be icing on the cake. And icing was not the focus of tonight. Tonight was all about getting Misty back for Ash.

Lance examined his surroundings -- it was darker than Umbreon flesh outside. The sky was thick with clouds which completely shaded the moons light. A touch of starlight did manage to seep through, however, this provided sparse illumination. He squinted against the night, taking note of the enormous old stone piles around them. He and Ash were surrounded by a good dozen rock mounds, each towering nearly ten yards up. In its day this was a very profitable quarry, but all good things eventually came to an end.

Lance turned to his companion, he was barely able to recognize Ash's dark shape by his side. Ash fidgeted like a nervous baby Snubbull. The reining Master anxiously picked up loose stones and pitched them into the blackness. Lance knew that Ash wanted nothing more than to surrender the Rocket's Pokemon and get Misty. But Ash understood his duty and he was sticking to it like a true Master. Lance was proud.

Lance's eyes were starting to sting; they weren't use to straining for so long. He did have a flashlight but he wanted to keep it off until the Rockets came. There was no use wasting the light until then. For now he would simply keep a discreet look out.

Ash shifted fretfully and faced him. "Lance?" he whispered.

"Mm?"

"It's gotta be pushing Midnight. Where _are_ they? I have a bad feel-"

"They'll be here," Lance answered sharply. He knew his words held no fact –and Ash probably knew that too -- but Ash nodded, trusting him anyway. "Just wait a bit more."

"I'd wait forever for her."

"I know you would, Ash."

"_**How touching! Makes me wanna gag!"**_

Lance stiffened, those obnoxiously loud words came from neither himself nor Ash.

Lance clicked on his flashlight. It was Showtime.

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"_Well, well, well_, if it isn't the studdly – _and unbelievably irritating_ – Dragon Master Lance!" Glare strut across the quarry like a model down a runway. She stopped in front of the Dragon Master and spotlighted him beneath her wrist light. "Is asking for an autograph too much?" she giggled, batting her lashes.

The Dragon Master raised his arm, shielding his sight from her blinding assault. The Pokemon Master was at his side . . .

_The great Arcanine and his wannabe Growlithe pup. Blah._ Glare knew which one of them was _really _calling the shots. _Looks like our handsome Arcanine needs a major Hydro Pump – he needs to go. As long as he's whispering the rules into Ketchum's ear the kid will never bend to our will._ Glare glanced back to her teammates, Remington and N.K. She rolled her eyes, but of course her teammates couldn't see that with her Rocket mask on. Remington (or _"Remi" _off the clock) knew her _very well. _He nodded as though seeing through her mask. Remington agreed with her -- that Dragon Master had to go. Glare turned her attention to Ketchum -- he obviously hadn't slept or shaved since they snagged his _lady love_. The Pokemon Master had dark stubble lining his jaw and dark circles beneath his eyes. Glare couldn't decide if it was gross or actually kind of cute.

"Glare." The Dragon Master stated her codename.

_Interesting._

Apparently he remembered her – or rather he recalled her assassination attempt on his life last summer. Glare frowned. She had hoped the Dragon Master wouldn't recognize her with her mask on. She had _really_ failed the boss with that assassination assignment . . . but in her defense that blasted Dragon Master _should_ be dead by now . . . he totally cheated with that damn Dragonite Pokeball up his sleeve . . . no matter. The Boss did not de-rank her over it. The Boss was a reasonable man and understood that Glare could not best the Dragon Master when it came to Pokemon. Besides, it was only a matter of time before another order for his head found its way onto her desk. And if the order didn't come soon she could always take matters into her own hands . . . come to think of it, crushing the Dragon Master _would_ really impress her boss. In fact, it might be all she needed to seal the deal for her as new leader.

"Hiya, Master duo," Glare smiled brightly at them both. "How about we skip any further pleasantries and get down to business, k?"

Ketchum stepped toward her, she noticed a _Masterball _in his hand and he was noticeably sweating. Glare raised an eyebrow beneath her mask –was he really this nervous under stress or was he hiding something? _Gawd_, for his sake she hoped for the ladder. Poor kid might kick some serious ass with Pokemon but he'd suck as Rocket. _Too soft._

Remington moved protectively between Ketchum and Glare. "Not too close, Master. I'll take that." Remington snatched the _Masterball f_rom Ketchum's hands.

"Hey!" Ketchum protested, obviously not ready to hand it over. The boy Master continued to sweat . . . however, Glare noticed that the Dragon Master was unflinching, unblinking . . . just as he had been when she'd held a gun to his head last summer. The memory instantly annoyed her. The Dragon Master was – seemingly- impossible to unnerve . . . he reminded her of Shard, and that was a dangerously irritating personality trait. She would love to finish him off.

_The Boss would be so proud of me! He would probably buy me flowers, or maybe even a new gun. Shard never even got a new gun_! Glare grinned at her thoughts.

Remington tossed the _Masterball _in the air like a toy. The Dragon Master cleared his throat, his eyes never leaving the ball. "Okay, you have what you came for. We'll take Misty now and be on our way."

Remington cracked a wicked grin. "All in good time, Dragon Master."

"What do you mean?" Ketchum snapped, brow furrowing. "Where is she?"

Glare chuckled, circling the Masters like a scavenging Fearow. "C'mon you guys, you didn't think we'd trade the carrot-top that easily did you? We gotta know for sure that our sweet 'lil Pokemon is, in fact, present within this ball, k? As much as I'd _love_ to trust a handsome Master pair like yourselves I must know that this isn't just an empty _Masterball_."

The Dragon Master's jaw tightened now. Glare pursed her lips, intrigued. "Fine," he spat, "Open the ball."

Remington chucked the ball to N.K. who – even in the dark – caught it like a professional baseball player. N.K. took a DNA scanner from his pocket and held it over the _Masterball._

"What is that?" Ketchum asked quickly.

"Oh, nothin' much," Glare winked, deciding that Ketchum _was_ cute all nervous like this, too bad he was wasted on that red-headed loser. "It's just a 'lil DNA scan."

The Dragon Master only stiffened but Ketchum -- he looked _very_ upset. Glare shook her head. Lance should have left Ketchum at home.

N.K. turned to Glare and shook his bald head. Glare was momentarily entertained by how the older mans head reflected the starlight. N.K. reminded her of _Mr. Clean . . . _only, permanently scowling and in a Rocket uniform. Remington walked to N.K. and peered at the scanner readings. "Hum," Remington frowned. "It seems we have a Ditto in our ball."

Glare shrugged, she had expected as much and thus knew exactly what to do. She pulled a gun from her pocket and aimed it back and forth between the two masters.

"Where's Misty?" Ketchum demanded, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she was holding a gun.

"She's not here," Remington said flatly. "We expected you to lie the first time, thus we didn't even bother to bring her."

"WHAT!" Ketchum seethed, Glare winced -- he looked like he was about to have a nervous break down or something. He was in serious need of a chill pill.

"Ash, relax," came the Dragon Master.

"Tryin' to trick us Rockets, eh, boys?" Glare exhaled dramatically. "Not smart."

Glare pulled the trigger.

The Dragon Master crumpled like a paper ball.

Dust erupted like a smoke bomb as he hit the quarry floor.

Ketchum's eyes bulged like a Caterpie, his jaw dropped as though his bottom teeth were made of lead -- Glare found his reaction really freaky and crossed him off her _cute-list._ Glare wished that he could see her eyes rolling.

"Yeah, yeah, I shot him, _how dare I_, blah, blah," Glare put her hand on her hip. "Listen up, Master boy, go home and think about what happened here tonight, k? We are going to give you one more chance to give us_ OUR_ Pokemon and for you to get your fiancée back. ONE MORE CHANCE. After that she'll be hanging out with the Dragon Master in '_shot-by-a-gunville'_, got it?"

Ketchum dropped to the ground, holding Lance's limp body in his arms. The Pokemon Master peered up at her -- Glare decided that he was genuinely pissed. He actually had a savage, dangerous look in his eyes . . . she put him back on the _cute-list._

"I understand," Ketchum fumed, clutching his mentor.

"Great," Glare and her associates turned and began walking back to their concealed car. She hesitated for a second and looked back. "Thanks for the Ditto, hon. Don't call me, I'll call you, k?" Glare blew him a goodnight kiss.

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_Often those things we regard as certain can surprise us with their uncertainty._

Misty sat alone in her prison room, Shard's earlier words echoed in her mind like a haunted record player. She had no idea what time it was or how many hours had passed since Shard had taken her swimming.

_Often those things we regard as certain can surprise us with their uncertainty_ . . .

Misty could almost hear Professor Oak saying those words. He use to recite that exact saying to Ash many times over their youthful adventures. As a boy Ash seemed to attract trouble and whenever he had doubts the professor could always counter them with a witty, uplifting expression. The one Shard quoted earlier was one of them. Misty shook her head bitterly, the professor _should_ still be alive. But he wasn't. He, like so many others, was massacred by the Rocket's Pokemon when Goldenrod and Olivine burned. This was why Ash could _NOT_ trade her for the professor's killer. Not tonight or any night. He just couldn't. If Ash did then that bloody past was guaranteed to repeat itself. Misty could not stand for Professor Oak's sacrifice to be in vain. Even now, _years _after his death, she missed him. He was like the grandfather she never had. He was wise, thoughtful, caring . . . always _there _to lend an ear or offer helpful advice. When she was a girl she use to sometimes wish that he _was_ her real grandfather. His own grandchildren did not appreciate him . . . the two of them were . . . disasters. . .

Misty sighed, recalling the fates of May and Gary Oak. It had been a very long time since she had thought about the Oak's. She did not know them well, but they seemed to be a cursed family. When May and Gary were children their parents died in a horrible car crash, leaving the professor to raise them. Then, when Gary was fifteen, he committed suicide. May married some alcoholic bum and was now a single mother of five. And the professor, even with his esteemed career, had died to save them all. He was a true martyr. A real hero. If he had not given Lance's Dragonite that amazing potion the beast could not have been defeated. They all would be dead now. The professor's potion was a brilliant creation -- it gave Dragonite ghost-type properties. Why he had created it, no one would ever know. But the world revered him for his brilliance, his heroism. The world would always miss Professor Samuel Oak.

_At least he is with his daughter and grandson in the afterlife now,_ Misty thought sadly, _I have to think of him that way. It's the only way to make this memory bearable. _

Misty shook her head as though the act would fling these thoughts from her mind. She had other concerns right now . . . she could not continue to mourn the past. She had to think of the present and how to _save_ the future.

Misty knew it had to be getting late. Her eyelids felt heavy. However, she also knew that, at any moment the Rockets could burst in and try to take her to Ash. Misty longed to be back in Ash's arms – longed for it more than her lungs yearned for air . . .

She_ loved _him, she missed him. Ash showed her what it meant to be truly happy, to _live. She would do anything for him . . ._

Anything _but_ see that monster freed. When the Rockets came for her tonight Misty would refuse to go. Even if that meant death. Even if it meant not seeing Ash ever again. She was prepared, and she knew Ash would understand. He loved her and he knew her – she was no selfish weakling. She would make Professor Oak proud of her.

_**beeeep-beeep!**_

The door suddenly slid open and Misty braced herself. She was prepared to kick, scream and raise hell. Fortunately, her valor was wasted, behind the door was Shard. He was alone. No Glare or Remington in sight.

Shard entered her chamber. He moved cautiously, every muscle in his face was tense. Despite this, he offered her a small smile. Misty hesitated, but smiled back. Shard was dressed in a freshly pressed, pristine white Rocket uniform. It must have been new—even his boots seemed polished. Misty wondered if he had been in a meeting?

Shard carried another magazine. Misty stood up, meeting him at the door. "What's going on, Shard?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted, a frown stealing his features. "Glare and the others went . . . somewhere. I planned to meet with my boss, but, he was gone."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know," Shard confessed. Misty didn't have to be a Rocket to know that his response was highly abnormal. She exhaled, attempting to mask her anxiety. Shard continued: "I am going to wait here with you until everyone gets back. I'm not sure why I wasn't notified that the boss was leaving the base. I have a-"

"-bad feeling?" Misty finished for him.

Shard only nodded, his expression as blank as a Slowpoke. Misty could tell he was concerned about something, but she asked no further questions. She reasoned that interrogating Shard would get her nowhere.

Shard handed her the magazine. It was another Scientific Journal with a cover feature on the Horsea.

"I haven't finished reading about the _Sweel_ yet," Misty handed the Horsea journal back to him, pointing to the _Sweel_ journal on her night stand.

"That's okay. I think you'll enjoy this one," he seemed insistent that she take his Horsea journal, therefore Misty accepted it and sat down on her bed. She pretended to be interested in studying the pages. What she was truly interested in studying was Shard. She had never seen him on edge before. He always seemed as cool as the frosty shade of his hair. Right now he was leaning against the wall, right next to the door. Misty couldn't help but notice that he was fingering the strap of his gun . . . it was as though he were ready to release the weapon at any moment. As Misty turned another random page of the journal, she felt something fall from the pages and onto her lap. It was a postcard. On the front was a photographic scene from some tropical island. It looked like a beautiful island – white sandy beaches and palm trees. It read _Ra'Tala Island_. The back of the postcard was blank.

"Ra'Tala Island?" she asked, holding it up.

Shard bowed his head, not moving from the door. "I use it as a bookmark," was his nonchalant reply.

"It looks like a beautiful place," Misty began, trying to be chipper and casual. "Where is it? I've never heard of it."

"South of the Orange Islands. Ra'Tala is a private island. My family vacationed there once when I was small." The first _slightly_ normal thing to leave his lips and he delivered it like a robot. Still. . . Misty was intrigued. Shard had . . . _a family_?

She blinked, surprised. "Have you been back there since, Shard?'

"No, I've just had that postcard for a while. I keep it with me. I enjoyed my time in Ra'Tala. I have good memories from there."

"Maybe you'll go back someday?" Misty hoped that he would.

"Rockets don't get vacations," his statement was blunt but there was jest in his tone. "_But_ in my next life, definitely," Shard smiled now.

Misty nodded, carefully placing the postcard back into the journal page from which it fell. Shard shifted his weight and fiddled with his eye mask. Misty wished he would just take it off . . . it _still_ unnerved her. She wanted to look into his eyes when they were speaking. The mask seemed to devalue every word he spoke.

"Shard?"

"Miss Waterflower?"

Misty would not get the chance to ask her question.

With his Jolteon-reflexes Shard drew his gun and aimed it at the door. Misty half expected him to unleash a _Pin Missile _attack! She bolted upward, stumbling off the bed; adrenaline now coursing through her veins like static electricity.

_What is going on!_

Shard's finger itched against the trigger. Misty held her breath as Glare, Remington and N.K. rushed into the room, oblivious that Shard could potentially blow their heads off.

The Rocket trio was talking casually amongst themselves, but it took less than a second for them to realize a gun barrel threatened their lives. They bounced backward, confusion and alarm clashing on their faces.

"What in the hell!" Remington's words were dripping with venom. He jabbed at Shard's gun with his finger. "Put that thing away."

Shard shoved Remington's hand away with the gun barrel. "_I am_ giving the orders right now. Where were you three tonight?"

N.K. scratched his bald head and casually walked across the room, helping himself to a beverage from Misty's cooler -- apparently N.K. was no longer concerned about Shard. Glare pranced over to Shard as though she were about to ask him to the prom. The blond was now also undisturbed about the gun. What was wrong with these people? The gun was not even near Misty and _she_ was freaking out!

Shard moved his weapon closer to Glare's head – she only grinned. Shard and Glare faced one another as a smoldering silence encased the chamber. After a several seconds, Shard replaced his gun in its holster on his back. "Where were you?" he repeated sternly.

Glare shrugged and then reached out and began toying with Shard's hair. Glare was playing with his bangs as though she were a Meowth kitten! Shard ignored her strange interest in his hair. "Well?" he snapped. Glare tucked some blue strands behind his ears; she was seemly oblivious to his question.

Remington looked about as happy as a Magmar in the North Pole. The dark haired Rocket pushed his way between them, shoving both Glare and Shard backward. "We met with Ketchum tonight," Remington sneered, grabbing Glare's arm. The blond was giggling like a drunk. Misty flinched, struggling _not _to physically pound the woman who (after all) controlled her fate.

Instead, Misty clenched her fists and stood upright. Her mind exploded with questions, with dread . . . if the Rockets went to see Ash, then why didn't they bring _her_? What could have happened? Was Ash alright?

"You did WHAT?" Shard seized Remington by his shirt collar and slammed him against the wall. Remington's head struck the wall with a loud _thud – _Misty remembered _her _own agony when Remington smashed _her_ face into the car window.

_Bastard, serves your right!_ She was disappointed that he wasn't bleeding.

"Answer me!" Shard was screaming in Remington's face. Misty had never seen Shard so infuriated. His frigid façade had spontaneously combusted into a raging attacker. For a brief moment Misty wondered if Shard were actually going to _kill_ Remington -- right there before them all.

Shard continued, invisible fumes billowing from every pore. "Why the hell wasn't I notified? _I am_ IN CHARGE of this operation. I can not believe you did this behind my back!"

Remington paled slightly – he was probably debating the same thought Misty was. Cussing, Remington quickly maneuvered from Shard's grip and he shoved the blue-haired Rocket away from him. "Whatever, Shard. Chill out. You don't sign my paychecks." Remington was attempting to sound calm, but it was obvious that Shard had scared him.

Glare continued to giggle, clearly delighted by their feud. "Shard," Glare tisked at him, "I think you've forgotten that _I_ actually _out rank you_. I am the boss's right hand, you are his left, and we both know that he's right handed."

The woman was so smug! Misty wanted to chuck a rock at her head!

Glare's obnoxious laughing progressed and Misty decided she would chuck an entire Golem instead.

N.K. had now made himself comfortable leaning against the wall. He was still across the room. The large man seemed content to let Glare, Remington and Shard verbally duke this one out.

"What happened with Ketchum?" Shard demanded.

Glare replied: "Ketchum and the Dragon Master _attempted_ to trick us; they put some lame Ditto in a ball. We're giving him one more chance, hence," Glare pulled a camcorder from her pocket, she smiled at Misty, "we're gonna need just _one more_ film."

Here came Shard's Jolteon-reflexes again – he snatched the camcorder from Glare's hand before she could bat a fake eyelash. "No way." His tone did not offer debate.

Glare sighed dramatically. "Ummm, okay, Shard," she faced him, lips forming a puke-worthy pout. "You know I find you to be totally delicious eye-candy and all, but, I will seriously have your face _broken _if you don't step down."

Shard actually laughed in her face. "Ha! Try it."

Misty stiffened.

Remington must have been part Abra because he seemed to be taking psychic orders from Glare -- she didn't voice a thing and her burly _'Remi_' came charging at Shard, grabbing him by the shoulders and launching a fist to his face. Shard saw it coming and easily blocked the assault, instead turning the tables on Remington and throwing him to the ground. Misty gasped, unsure whether or not she should move . . . unsure if she should try to help Shard or not . . . she glanced at N.K., he was still leaning against the wall, satisfied to observe. Remington was scowling upon the ground. Glare looked irritated. And Shard . . . he was casually brushing his hands together, a haughty grin plastered across his face.

"Loser," Shard sneered at Remington, "you forget basic training? _Never attack in anger. _Rule number three." Shard slammed the camera to the ground and stomped on it, crushing the device into little pieces.

Now Glare was _really _angry. The blond cussed like a trucker, stomped her feet and then turned to N.K. "I've had it with Shard! N.K.? _Please_?"

N.K. stretched and exchanged glances with Remington.

Misty could feel the blood draining from her face. Fear seemed to clog her throat and she could say nothing . . . do nothing! Dread clawed at her brain, hissing in her ear, warning her that this was not going to end well for Shard. . .

He was out numbered, just as she had been when she was abducted. She knew that Remington and N.K.'s fists showed no mercy.

Shard did not flinch as N.K. approached him. Instead he peered up at the older man. "You wouldn't DARE lay a finger on me."

"Why?" Glare answered for N.K. "Because the Boss might punish us for harming his precious perfect Rocket? _Whatever_. The Boss is out of town right now." Shard stiffened . . . and unfortunately, Glare noticed. "What, Shard, you didn't know? The Boss didn't tell _you_? _You_, his very favorite Rocket? Aw, too bad. Not so cocky now, are ya?"

When a Houndour knows it is surrounded, out numbered and doomed it bites and it claws– it goes down fighting. It never runs. This was not the first time since her abduction that Misty had privately compared Shard to that fierce Pokemon. And in this moment Shard did not hesitate -- he stepped toward his adversaries and redrew his gun.

Not surprisingly, Remington played dirty -- he swiftly seized Shard's gun strap and yanked him forward. Shard attempted to regain his balance – his footing – but he could not do so in time to block Remington's fist. Remington punched him _hard_! It was as though _years _of pent up hostility were now being funneled into one powerful punch. Remington's fist landed directly in Shard's stomach. Shard buckled, wheezing, his knees colliding with the floor. But Remington would not allow him to fall, he snared a fistful of Shard's hair and held him up. Remington was not going to let the Houndour play dead.

"Hold him," Remington growled, shoving Shard at N.K. – the larger man easily twisted Shard into a brutal arm lock. He winced, still struggling to catch his breath. Shard began to thrash, but was unsuccessful in weakening N.K.'s grasp. Remington took immediate advantage of Shard's helplessness and he proceeded to barrage Shard twice more with his fists, this time across the face. Misty shook herself from her shock – she darted toward the horrific scene— Shard was being restrained by one man while another used him as a punching bag. She could not simply stand by and watch Shard being brutalized. Not after he had stood up for her.

It was Misty's turn to personify the Houndour. A Houndour_ Raged _out if its mind.

Misty charged, preparing to grab Remington by his throat, to choke, to kick him, _hell_, she'd even bite the bastard if it would stop him! She _HATED_ that man!

"Not so fast, tootsie," Glare blocked her path like a stupid blond traffic cop -- Misty was going to run her down.

"Move it!" Misty warned. Behind Glare Remington was nailing Shard with his boot. Blood dribbled from Shard's scalp . . . his nose. . .

Glare smirked. "I think not. Listen, Misty, just go sit down and wait your turn. You have a cute fiancé. Don't risk never seeing him again for this soon-to-be dead man, k?"

Misty ground her teeth. She hurled consequences to the wind and floored her adrenaline.

"BITCH!" Misty smacked Glare across the face. The blond woman sank to the floor like a brick in the water.

_Now for Remington . . ._

Misty's actions were barely her own, she was operating on some sort of _Amazon Woman _cruise control! She rushed at Remington. However, Remington had seen her take down Glare and was not happy about it. He was already turning toward her, no doubt to ram Misty with his fist. Misty's eyes quickly scoured her surroundings . . . what could she do? She was defenseless and Shard was hanging limp from N.K.'s arms. She doubted that Shard was even conscious . . . he would be unable to aid her. Misty could not reach Shard's gun, and even if she could she didn't know how to use it . . . what could she possibly. . .

_THERE!_

Misty dove.

She_ barely_ missed Remington's punch. Misty scrambled like mad, fingers outstretched . . .

_I only need one!_

_Got it!_

Misty seized a random Pokeball from Shard's belt and threw it.

A massive Blastoise materialized before her. The Pokemon's eyes swept quickly around the room – it was assessing the present situation.

"Help Shard!" Misty pleaded. Shard was dead weight in N.K.'s hands. N.K. looked back and forth between Misty and the gigantic Blastoise, he was a large man, but even _he_ knew his physical limits. Blastoise snarled, water jutting from its nostrils. N.K. dropped Shard.

"Dammit!" Remington pulled Glare up off the floor. She was clutching her bleeding nose.

Blastoise seemed somewhat delighted by the Rockets fear of him. He bucked his head, snorting, and began to charge them, clearly preparing a high level _Skull Bash _attack.

"Let's go, NOW!" Remington ordered. "My Pokemon can't take this thing. It'll kill us."

Glare and N.K. nodded and the three Rockets rapidly clustered together and scurried out the door.

Blastoise turned to Misty now, its eyes seemed . . . accusing.

Misty raised her hands defensively. "No, I'm not going to hurt him. I was trying to help him. That's why I released you."

Blastoise must have believed her for he focused his attention upon his master. Misty rushed to Shard, he was sprawled flat out on his back, blood pooling beneath his head. Blastoise gurgled at her, clearly communicating: "_help him!"_

Misty swallowed hard, she felt like her mouth was stuffed with cotton balls. She couldn't speak, but she_ could_ think.

Misty jumped to her feet and ran to her bed. She pulled the medical kit out from underneath. She then knelt beside Shard and gently placed his head in her lap. He was unconscious, but his wounds appeared superficial. Misty knew all to well that a good blow to the stomach could knock your wits out along with your breath. She may have had no formal first aid training, but Misty had observed Shard tending to her own injuries and so she went to work. Blastoise was kind enough to wet the washcloth for her. Misty was careful to smear sterile cream over all areas of broken skin. Shard's nose did not appear to be broken, but it was probably going to be sore. As Misty worked, Blastoise watched her every move very carefully. Misty feared that if Shard so much as whimpered that his Pokemon might_ Water Gun_ her. Blastoise was not on board with trusting her yet. Next, Misty began removing what blood had begun to dry along Shard's ears and scalp. She brushed his bangs aside, preparing to add more sterile cream, when . . . she noticed something . . . _curious_. . .

. . . Shard had brunette roots.

Apparently his hair color was not naturally ice-blue.

Shard was . . . a hair-dyer.

His brown roots were showing by only a half centimeter, but they were unmistakable. Although Misty never dyed her hair, she knew a thing or two about hair-color – all of her sisters were natural redhead's and Misty was the one who helped to color them pink, yellow and violet. Misty was surprised that she hadn't noticed this little guise before . . . Shard's hair was just so thick that one would never have noticed the roots without a thorough examination.

Misty frowned and shrugged this minor detail away, plenty of people dyed their hair. _Who cares, _she shoved the knowledge aside and stuffed it into the back of her mind. Misty quickly continued her first aid task. There was a good bit of blood seeping through his eye mask -- no doubt he was bleeding from an injury _beneath _the fabric. It would need to be cleaned as soon as possible. Misty's fingers hovered over Shard's mask, she knew that she had to remove it to properly aid him, it was a necessity. Only, a part of her felt as though she would be _betraying him . . ._ in some way, on some level by removing it. Misty shook her head, scolding herself._ Nonsense, _she decided._ Shard will agree that his health takes precedence to his masquerade_._ Besides_ . . .

Misty nibbled her lower lip . . . a tiny urge within her beckoned . . . this urge was grossly curious about _what_ he looked like . . . why was Shard so intent to hide? When Glare and the others returned they were probably going to beat her blind so she might as well look now.

Steadying her hand Misty began to peel away the fabric. Luckily Blastoise did not seem to care about protecting his master's mask secret.

_Look at me: helping my kidnapper_, Misty mocked inwardly; _my life is full of such charming irony. _

Misty held her breath, carefully easing a finger beneath his mask. The fabric was actually sticky underneath -- it was adhered to his skin like a Band-Aid. This made sense, if Rockets were out committing crimes they certainly did not want to risk their masks falling off and their identities being exposed. Misty peeled very gently, her fingers trembling as the first few centimeters peeled away. Surprisingly, unlike a Band-Aid, this adhesive did not redden Shard's skin and she noticed that his _brunette_ eyebrows were not being pulled either. The adhesive was oily and lubricated his face. It was a clever invention.

Misty continued to work at the mask, peeling until all edges were loose . . .

. . . She was still holding her breath as she stripped the final corner of Shard's mask away. . .

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Authors Note: Hello, everyone! Yes, in my Pokemon world they have _Mr. Clean, _k? (wink) I hope you enjoyed this chapter, the next one will be on the way very soon! Please be so kind as to leave a little review.

Those of you who are Egoshipping fans, I encourage you to visit our NEW Live Journal community. It is called 'Egoshipping Central' – the link is on my homepage. Just click the little "Maia's Pen" link. We are a small, but growing, community and we want YOU! Hee hee!

Thanks again for reading, don't forget to review, have a lovely holiday season and I'll see you on Egoshipping Central. Maia's Pen


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

For a fleeting, precious moment Misty Waterflower forgot about Team Rocket, about her abduction and about her impending mortality. She even forgot how to exhale. The young man lying before her was . . .

. . ._beautiful._

This Rocket was no longer looting jewelry, or money, or Pokemon, but instead was effortlessly stealing the very breath from her lungs. In this moment Elite Rocket Shard was vulnerable. His unconscious head rested upon her lap. Shard had been undeniably attractive with the mask on, but without it . . .

Misty finally reminded herself to breathe. In his defenseless state --_right now_ -- Shard was the most devastatingly handsome man that Misty had ever seen. Thick dark lashes lay atop his sleeping eyes -- his _unmasked_ sleeping eyes. Apparently Shard had also thieved Misty's impulse-control, her fingers maneuvered on their own, grazing his eyebrows and down the line of his jaw. Shard's skin was soft and smooth like bronzed marble . . . sleeping as he was Shard reminded Misty of a statue. He reminded her of a beautiful deity from the past whose likeness was now carved in precious stone. Shard was like a cherished sculpture, a work of art, to be admired and awed . . . but he would never be capable of enjoying life, of _living it,_ of _feeling._

Misty trembled, struggling to collect her thoughts. She blinked, a dizzy spell threatened her and Misty knew that lack of oxygen was not entirely to blame. Misty cupped Shard's face in her hands, his skin was hot beneath her fingers and she felt the burn race throughout her entire system. As Misty continued to examine Shard she noticed the cut below his eyebrows and scolded herself for forgetting to clean it. While working on the wound Misty realized that Shard _reminded_ her of more than a handsome statue . . . he reminded her _of someone. _There was something in his jaw structure . . . or was it his cheek bones? Maybe his eyebrows? Or . . . maybe his hair? There was _something_, just something . . . maybe . . . that was familiar.

_Maybe not_.

Handsome as he may be, Shard was a killer. A Rocket. Who could he possibly remind her of? No one she knew went around killing people and stealing. Misty was certain of that. Still . . . a yearning question plagued her: _why does Shard hide behind this mask?_ _I understand his need for it when out committing crimes, but why here in the Rocket base? Glare and others do not wear their masks here. Is he missing an eyeball or something?_

Now Shard began to stir and Misty became far stiffer than any marble statue. She clung to his mask like a lifeline. What should she do? Put it back on? Hide it? Would he become angry with her for removing it? What would he say to her?

Shard squinted, moaning, and slowly sat up. He pressed his hands to his temples—Misty was sure they were throbbing. She held her breath, Shard seemed slightly disoriented, so far he had no idea that his mask was missing. _Not that it matters, _Misty insisted to herself. _You did what you had to do to help him. If he doesn't appreciate that then that is HIS problem._

Shard shook his head groggily, his eyes blinking open. . .

_Nope, _he was not missing an eyeball . . . and. . .

Misty forgot how to breathe again.

Staring into her own were the most striking eyes Misty had ever seen. The hue of a sapphire would be envious for Shard's eyes were a dark brilliant shade of blue. With no effort this thief had captured her breath again and hypnotized her like a dancing flame in the dark. Shard's eyes seemed to throw blue sparks which smoldered across her wit, her reason, rapidly burning her defenses away. Misty thought about breathing about speaking, but nothing would come. Her lips trembled, her eyes wavered, but she dared not blink. Misty was not ready to look away. She longed to be the thief now -- to steal a look at those blazing sapphires for as long as she could.

Shard squinted at her now, his brow creased in confusion. And then realization charged him like a Rhydon. Storm clouds darkened his eyes, extinguishing the flames, drowning the sapphires . . . and, what Misty saw in them now told her instantly _why_ Shard had hid behind that mask to begin with. Misty's heart sank along with those beautiful eyes. Those beautiful eyes were . . . . . . unbearably sad.

Elite Rocket Shard was a broken man.

His eyes were now a shattered mirror; perhaps once Misty could have looked into them and seen herself smiling . . . but now Shard's eyes reflected only pain, anger, confusion . . . _hurt._ Broken, jagged shards of a person he possibly used to be. What had caused him to shatter? What had happened to this young man to destroy him? What caused him such unbearable pain? Shard was so smart, so attentive, SO much better than this! So much better than this Rocket life of crime_! Wasn't he?_ What had happened to him? Misty shivered, tears threatened her and she immediately fought them back. The degree of loss and sorrow in his eyes. . . Misty had never seen its equal and she never wanted to again. Shard's sorrow was so vast that Misty feared it might engulf her along with him. Misty shut her eyes, it was her only defense. She quickly handed Shard his mask.

Shard held the mask as though the fabric were composed of lead, like a chain -- heavy and unwanted in his hand. After a moment he lowered his head, regret flickered across that beautifully desolate face.

"I don't want to hide from you, Miss Waterflower." Shard's voice was barely a whisper as he lay his hand over hers, pushing the mask away. Misty's lower lip quivered, but she nodded, cupping his hand between her own. They were both trembling now, the twin vibrations caused every hair on her neck to raise.

"Shard, are you okay?" what an understatement of her thoughts, but it was all that Misty could muster.

"Blast, blast," Blastoise lay a gentle paw on his masters head.

Misty jumped -- she had completely forgotten that the turtle Pokemon was even in the room.

Shard smiled at his Pokemon. It was a gorgeous smile and his eyes shone with pride for _just a moment_. "Good boy, I'm fine now. You may return." Blastoise obediently returned to his Pokeball. "Thank you," Shard said to Misty.

Misty at once realized that their hands were still interlocked. She cleared her throat, pulling away from him and standing up.

Shard faced her: "You were smart to take out Blastoise. Remington is afraid of him, Blastoise broke his leg once. Not one of his Pokemon has ever bested my Blastoise."

Misty busied herself by cleaning up all of the medical equipment which was now scattered on the floor. "He's a fine Blastoise," she commented, her face felt hot and she wanted to keep herself turned away from Shard. She didn't know why he was causing her to blush, and the realization that she _was _blushing only made her blush more furiously! And now with his mask off there was no more guessing in regard to his expressions. Since day one Misty had cursed Shard's mask and now she wished that she could stick it back on him.

"Thank you," Shard tried to stand up, but winced and decided to remain on the floor. "Blastoise is my best friend. In general, they have always been my favorite Pokemon type. My very first starter Pokemon was a Blastoise, long ago."

"Really?" Misty kept her eyes locked on cleaning. "Is this one your starter?"

"No, I don't have that Blastoise anymore," Shard was noticeably trying to sound causal, but Misty detected undertones of remorse. She dared not to look into his eyes.

"What happened to him?"

"Can you help me up, Miss Waterflower?" Shard prominently changed the subject, but Misty didn't press him. What was the point? Misty had come to learn that Shard could not be pressed for anything. It would only become an aggravating waste of her time. Plus, what did the fate of his starter Pokemon matter anyway? She was only making small talk.

Misty lowered her hand to help him up. Shard intertwined his fingers with hers and Misty felt as though a Charmeleon had sighed upon her palm. An unknown heat seared from his fingers into hers, sending another blush from her forearm to her checks. And despite this heat Misty shivered lightly. She averted her eyes from Shard's again, afraid that he had felt her shiver and seen her blush. Whether he had or had not he didn't say a word. Once he was on his feet he stretched and cracked his knuckles. Misty guessed he was feeling steadier by the moment. Apparently none of Remington's assaults had caused him serious harm.

"So what happens now?" Misty asked.

Shard frowned thoughtfully. "Things are not looking good . . . for either of us, I'm afraid."

"I figured that out."

"Yeah, well, Glare and the others have never gone so far as to defy The Boss before. I'm fairly certain that he did not agree to them meeting up with Ketchum alone tonight. Or to filming you again."

Misty shook her head. _Great. _The one Rocket who was trying to help her was possibly, very soon, going to be over-powered. How was she ever going to get back to Ash? And more importantly: how could she prevent the Rockets from gaining their beast? Shard needed to stay safe. Misty _wanted _him to be safe. "Shard," Misty began, keeping her tone void of emotion "The other day Glare said something to me about _you not being around for long_. What was she talking about?"

Shard sneered, his blue eyes blazing. "Our boss is retiring soon. That leaves one of us: Glare, Remington and myself up for his position. To lead Team Rocket. They want to make sure the position is_ not_ given to me. But I'm fairly confident that our boss is favoring me in his decision. Not that I blame him, my skills are far superior to those idiots. Appointing me as his heir makes the most sense for the future of the company. It's an honor. One that I deserve. I have worked _very _hard and I am the best Rocket here."

Misty frowned doubtfully, ignoring his momentary flash of ego, "Do you actually want to run Team Rocket, Shard?"

Shard turned to her solemnly now. "Team Rocket is a machine, with each one of us acting as different gears – together we make the machine run flawlessly. But if one part fails, then the machine fails. A poor gear is instantly disposed of and replaced by The Boss. He does not tolerate disappointment. In my time I've seen gears go soft, hesitate and rust, the outcome is always the same. The machine MUST run perfectly. I am not going be the failure."

Misty turned away from Shard, trying to mentally digest what he had just said. "Shard," she faced him "I'm not the only prisoner here, _am I_?"

"What's_ that_ supposed to mean?" Shard's tone was suddenly biting. Evidently Misty had struck a nerve.

However, Misty was not taken aback by his curtness one bit, in fact, it irked her! She just saved his life and he was giving _her_ attitude? Misty stormed toward him, hands on her hips. "You are NOT happy here, Shard. You don't want to be here any more than I do. Admit it!"

Shard scoffed. "You don't know _what_ you are talking about, Miss Waterflower. I am very loyal to my boss. I would do _anything_ for him. I've _killed _for him many, many times."

Misty shook her head. "So _you_ want to lead Team Rocket? You want to live your life a wanted man? Live in a place where your co-workers want to KILL YOU? I don't buy that! You are _more _than just a Rocket, Shard. You are talented, _you are thoughtful_ . . . you could be doing a million other things with your life right now. Why are you here? You don't belong here and you know it."

Shard raised his hand like a policeman stopping traffic. "Those are dangerous words, Miss Waterflower. Be careful _never_ to utter them again."

"Are _you_ threatening _me _now?" Misty was almost spewing flames. The man was a walking contradiction. "Am I going to be one of your _many _murder victims now?"

"If my boss orders it, then _yes_." He spoke without batting an eye. She wanted that mask back on—_now_.

Misty took a step away from him, still fuming. "You would actually kill me?"

"I don't want to," Shard's expression finally flinched. "I am risking my life to avoid that, _if you haven't noticed_," he dramatically pointed to his bruised nose.

Misty took a deep, steady breath. Their tempers were both escalading and fighting with Shard was not helping neither of them. She met his eyes earnestly. "Shard, why are you helping me? Why are you here?"

He frowned, silent, averting her sight.

"Shard, are you afraid that you will have nowhere to go if you leave? That the authorities will lock you away? I'm sure if we explained to them-"

"I am a _murderer_, Miss Waterflower," Shard's voice sliced her like a samurai sword, his eyes singeing like blue fire. "I have killed people. In cold blood. And _very_ premeditated. There is no talking ones way out of such crimes. Not that I would anyway, that is my job. It is a job I do extremely well."

Misty lowered her head, shuddering. Shard insisted on throwing his murdering-past in her face. Did he want her to fear him? To loathe him? Not only was he a killer but he did not seem to have a glimmer of remorse for his crimes . . . rather, Shard seemed proud of them. It was . . . _disturbing_. Who was this man? One moment he was courageous and thoughtful and the next he became twisted into gloating killer? Did he truly mean what he was saying? Was Shard really so devoted to a life of terrible crime?

Although Shard's eyes were raging Misty remembered the raw sorrow he had reflected only moments ago . . .

_No._ Shard was not the proud killer he boasted to be. He played that part and he played it extremely well. He _had_ too. He would not be a failure in this company, in this machine. He would not be the _gear_ which went soft and rusted. He either did what he was told here or died. If he dared to leave he would be killed or locked away for life. Shard _was_ a prisoner. It did not matter how misfortune had led him to become a Rocket, what mattered was that he was now trapped in far graver binds than she was because of it.

"Shard, please, we need to talk. Just, stay here with me for a few-"

"I have to go," he snapped her words like a Natu bone. "I need to report what happened here to my boss before Glare does. It will be their word against mine—three to one. And I'm sure their version of the story will be dramatically different than mine."

"What's going to happen to you if your boss believes them?" Misty did not mask the concern in her voice. She _was_ concerned – for HIM, for HERSELF. Their fates were wholly intertwined. Shard didn't answer her. Instead he snatched his mask back and headed for the exit.

"Shard!" she called after him – she didn't want him to leave like _this,_ upset with her. Misty didn't want him to leave _period. _What if the other Rockets came back? She was defenseless. What if they got to Shard before he found his boss? Would they . . . kill him? "SHARD!" she screamed, racing after him. He did not react to her pleas.

The door beeped locked behind him.

Dread churned in Misty's stomach like sour bile. She had a horrible feeling that she would never see Shard again.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Elite Rocket Shard headed directly to his boss's office. If his boss had not yet returned then Shard would stand outside the door and wait. While he waited he would keep busy by leaving a _very_ detailed message on the boss's voicemail explaining what had happened in Miss Waterflower's chamber with Glare, Remington and N.K. Shard knew that his nose was bleeding and that his uniform was splotched with gore, but he could not allow himself the extra time to wash-up and change. Time was of the essence. If his three counterparts snared the boss's ear before he did then Shard would soon find himself in an _extreme_ amount of trouble.

Shard jogged quickly through the corridors, stopping momentarily to tousle his spiky hair and to press on the corners of his mask -- it was a nervous habit. He would secure his mask edges often twenty or more times throughout the day. And now that Miss Waterflower, _Misty,_ had removed his mask his paranoia was heightened that it may come loose. The adhesive was lacking proper stick. Misty should not have removed his mask, but it was over and done with and, after all, she had meant well. Shard was actually quite relieved that she had. She had seen his face, she had clearly not recognized him (not that he truly thought she would have anyway), and therefore there was really no longer a reason to hide from her. Shard shoved these thoughts aside and continued dashing toward The Boss's office.

Shard blazed through the final hallway like a wild firestorm, nearly knocking over three Rocket grunts in his path. He now understood how a Charizard must feel when unleashing a _Rage_ attack -- adrenaline coursed through his veins like molten lava and his face was hot as though he'd been sun burnt. He was fuming so uncontrollably that he could no longer even feel the leftover pain from Remington's fists.

_That bastard is going to wish that he'd done more than knock me out._ Shard smirked as an image of his fist in Remington's face flashed through his imagination. _He won't be getting back up._

Shard halted before The Boss's door—instinct told him to break it right down, but rational instructed him to jiggle the handle first. The door clicked, it was open.

Shard did not waste time contemplating when The Boss might have returned, he just marched right in. And, he immediately felt as though an Onyx had launched a _Rockthrow _in the pit of his stomach. Not only was his boss present before him, but, a dozen others were as well. But these _others_ were not just any ordinary people, nor were they Rockets.

Shard stiffened.

These _other_ people were the Team Rocket board members.

Shard's boss led Team Rocket with an iron fist, but _these _were the individuals who funded the organization and gave power to that fist. They were all masters at living the double life – they were powerful, wealthy business professionals, all very respected in their areas of the world. But who also had an insatiable lust for power, control, and money. Each board member had purchased fairly equal shares in the company -- of course none as large as The Boss himself -- but enough to be granted decision-making power in regard to Team Rockets most important matters. They rarely all assembled in the same location. So why then, Shard wondered, were they all here now? It was nearly four o'clock in the morning. What the hell was going on?

The board members – ten men and two women – were clothed in pricey business attire and they sat around a long rectangular table with The Boss at the head. They were talking loudly amongst themselves. Shard now noticed that Glare was perched next to The Boss. Ahe was murmuring something into his ear. Remington and N.K. clustered in a far corner. The two male Rockets gaped at Shard as though he were some sort of phantom.

All of a sudden, the room fell silent. _Oh, goodie._ Apparently everyone noticed him now. No one looked particularly pleased to see him. Shard shook his head, realizing that he had unwittingly become the Venonat entering an Ariados layer. _Clearly, _Glare had woven quite the wordy-web. Shard would have to watch every step, every word to maneuver free. He had no idea what Glare had been reporting to the board, but he knew that none of it spotlighted him well.

Shard exhaled cautiously and held his head high. Glare and the others had changed into clean uniforms, they certainly looked more presentable than he did. Nonetheless Shard was confident that he could best them verbally despite his ragged appearance. He _needed_ to talk enough dizzying circles around Glare that she would falter somehow . . . that she would trip . . . he had too. If he didn't then _Misty_ . . .

. . . Shard's thoughts lingered on her name, on the terrifying list of _What-ifs_ which faced her. Shard was quick to fix his attention upon the board -- he'd not grant Glare a second glance.

The Boss stood up, signaling Shard to stop moving. Shard obeyed. The Boss looked tired but he was as clean-cut as ever, not one wrinkle tainted his business suit. It was now obvious to Shard that The Boss had spent the entire night rounding up his board members. But why?

Shard addressed his audience of superiors: "Boss, board, I-"

"Shard," The Boss severed his words like a katana, and his expression was just as ridged as the blade. Shard studied The Boss's features but found it impossible to predict what he was thinking. "Shard, the blood on your face confirms Glare's unfortunate report."

"Sir-"

The Boss raised a hand, indicating silence. "Shard, I am going to ask you one question: did you _forcefully _prevent Glare from video-taping Miss Waterflower or not?"

Shard nodded. "Yes, Sir, I did."

The Boss exchanged glances with some of the board members. Then, one of the board members, Charles Cheroux -- a business tycoon from Celadon City—faced him. Shard had always thought that the elderly man resembled a Dunsparce, you could never tell if his eyes were open or not. Only, right now, the Dunsparce-man plainly had a look of disappointment etched within his eyes.

"Shard, m'boy," Charles sighed regretfully. "This is very out of character for you. Until now you've had a pristine track record. I've watched your career with great interest. We would like to hear what happened from you. Right now."

"Thank you, Mr. Cheroux," Shard bowed his head. "Glare, Remington and N.K. entered Miss Waterflower's chamber. They reported that they had met with Ketchum and were unsuccessful in apprehending our Pokemon. I had not been notified of their actions. As second ranked Elite Rocket and the Rocket charged with Miss Waterflower's care, I should have been told. Glare and the others were planning to again tape Miss Waterflower being brutalized. I was not consulted and I found it unnecessary. I also had heard no such order and was not going to allow a violent act which my boss had not notified me about. I was attacked by Glare, Remington and N.K. I defended myself and Miss Waterflower."

Charles Cheroux raised a skeptical eyebrow, he turned to The Boss. The Boss nodded and began: "I had to leave the base for an emergency -- to plan this meeting. I entrusted Glare to oversee all operations. Regardless of what _you thought_ was right or wrong, Glare out ranks you, Shard. Did you forget this? In my absence she IS me. An assault upon Glare may as well have been upon me. And, is it also true that you attacked Glare and the others with your Blastoise?"

Shard clenched his jaw. He was right where Glare wanted him – trapped. Every word from his lips seemed to only further ensnare him in her wicked web. There was sparse chance to wriggle free now . . . Shard had to be careful and he had to make certain that he would not trap Misty along with him. No doubt _that_ was what Glare was waiting for -- to twist any mention of Misty into an excuse for her death. If the board knew that Misty used _his _Pokemon to attack Glare and the others then they would have her head. Obviously, Glare had skipped that detail in her report and she was counting on Shard to take the blame, to keep Misty out of further harm. Glare knew that Shard would accept responsibility for the Blastoise attack. By taking all the blame himself Misty would not be viewed as defiant, however, Shard would be gravely punished. As much as he did not like punishment, he liked the idea of Misty being murdered far less. In fact the mere thought of it made him choke.

Shard faced his boss: "I had to defend myself, Sir. Yes, I attacked with my Blastoise."

Several board members whispered amongst themselves. The Boss nodded gravely. Glare was grinning over his shoulder like a drunken Wooper.

"I see," The Boss continued. "The board has made some decisions on this matter. Apprehending our Pokemon is the first and foremost priority."

"Which," another board member, Lydia Lynch, chimed in, "I might add that Glare has taken large steps toward. She managed to put The Dragon Master into Pewter Cities I.C.U. He should be dead by morning. The Pokemon Master is no doubt going to crumble because of this. He no longer has his mentor or his fiancée and should comply to us now. Our Mewtwo will be back with us soon, all thanks to Glare."

Shard suppressed a gasp. Glare had attacked The Dragon Master? He was going to die? Not that Shard cared about The Dragon Master in the least however Glare being the one to kill him would now bump her up even higher in The Boss's eyes. Glare would be praised for months to come for this one.

The web was getting sticker by the second. Shard struggled to formulate his thoughts. To find someway of besting Glare, to turn this impossible situation around.

"At this point," The Boss went on, "we will have to dispose of Miss Waterflower regardless if the Pokemon Master releases Mewtwo or not. She has seen far too much and who knows what she has learned or overheard-"

"_Sir_!"

"I am NOT finished," The Boss snapped. "Miss Waterflower will be left unharmed until we receive our Pokemon. Then she must be killed. I am assigning that task to Remington. I am also relieving you, Shard, of your duties to oversee her care. Effective immediately. That duty will also be charged to Remington. The board has decided that you have become too personally involved in this mission. We are disappointed, Shard. However, we realize your value to the company and have decided your punishment accordingly. You are sentenced to twenty four hours in the brig, beginning right now."

Glare's suffocating web had swallowed Shard whole -- she was spinning him, twisting him, killing him within her slick, tangling words. Glare continued to roll him around her web until all thoughts went reeling and spilling from his mind. Shard had . . . _lost?_

He sucked in a deep breath, trying to fully comprehend all that was transpiring around him_. The brig?_ He was being sent to the brig? For twenty four hours? _Oh my God,_ Misty would be killed before they set him free. How had Glare bested him on this one? This was not luck -- she had been plotting this for sometime now. How had he not seen it coming? Shard was a perfect Rocket. He was always aware of everything. That was what made him the best. He studied the others, saw their flaws, predicted their behaviors, he was always right. _He was the best._ Shard needed to be the best. He needed to keep control . . . he could not ever lose control _again_ . . . like he did back then, when he was a teenager . . . no, _NO!_ HE WAS ALWAYS IN CONTROL. He did NOT lose. He had left the losing life behind him long ago. Here, in Team Rocket, he surpassed everyone . . . and Shard had vowed never to lose control again. How had Glare planned this without him knowing? Wasn't he smarter than this? Wasn't he smarter than _her?_ Glare must have been observing his behavior too. She was just waiting for something to sway his concentration . . . a distraction . . . _he had been distracted. _Misty. Misty had distracted him. Shard dammed himself for his weakness. He was supposed to be beyond that_, the best –_ the best should not be distracted so easily . . . he had failed.

FAILED!

And because of his failure he and Misty were both condemned.

_Twenty four hours in the brig . . ._ The brig was no more than a tomb. A closet, four yards by four yards in height and width. No windows, no lights. The floors, walls and ceiling felt identical. No furnishings. No food. No water. No escape. He had never been in the brig, but had seen it many times when escorting other Rockets to its doom.

"Surrender your weapons and effects, please." The Boss pointed to the table. The Boss's voice yanked Shard from his misery and he obeyed at once, setting his gun and Pokeballs down. "Everything." Shard pulled a dagger from his left boot and a taser from his right. The Boss eyed him with lingering suspicion but said nothing and nodded.

"This is for your own good," Charles Cheroux announced as though Shard might appreciate the words. Shard said nothing. He continued to hold his head high. If he fought now he would be shot dead, that was the Rocket way. Shard might have gotten distracted, he might have lost control and Glare might have won this round, but none of that was Misty's fault. Misty might have been hot-headed, pushy, stubborn and her words out of line, but she had also helped him back there . . . since being taken to this base Misty had helped Shard in more ways than one. There was no way in hell that Shard was going to sit tight in that brig waiting for Misty to die. Die because of his failure. _No,_ he wouldn't put up a fight now. He would be still, silent and obedient. After all, it would be impossible to save Misty later if he were a pile of ashes.

"Remington and N.K. will escort you to the brig," said his Boss. "I will speak with you in twenty four hours about your behavior and the future consequences of it." The Boss turned from him and began speaking with his board.

Remington sized Shard roughly, slamming him against the wall to handcuff him. The force was hardly necessary, Shard would have put his arms out had the other Rocket only asked.

"The cuffs will not be needed, Remington," came The Boss, "Shard will go with you accordingly, won't you Shard?" it was not a request, and Shard nodded, he'd rather not wear them. Remington huffed quietly in objection, he was no better than a toddler who'd been denied a Pokemon toy. Remington shoved him roughly as they entered the hallway.

Shard was planning to return the favor. And he planned to do it in less than twenty four hours.

0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0

Being subtle was not Glare's forte. The blond Rocket charged inside Misty's prison room like a rabid Nidoqueen – actually trashing, stomping and huffing!

"_YOU!" _the word drizzled from her lips like toxin, she pointed to her bruised cheek. "YOU DID THIS!" Glare shrieked now, glowering at Misty with her trademark evil _glare._ "Now, carrot-top, how's about I do this?" she raised her pistol.

Misty's heart raced, she took a step backward but said nothing. She had no idea what to expect.

Glare smirked, seemingly satisfied to have set Misty on edge. "Listen, I'm not going to hurt you or video tape you," Glare's words were positive enough, but she still hissed them like an Arbok.

"Why are you here then?" Misty could not restrain the demand in her tone. She was sick of cowering around this witch. Misty was now confident of two things: first, that no one was going to kill her until they got their Pokemon. And, second, that she could do plenty of damage to Glare with her bare hands. Apparently Glare knew these things as well, hence the flaunting of her gun to keep Misty at bay.

"Fair question," Glare sneered. The blond propped herself against the door, but her gun hand did not lower. "I guess I'm just here to chat, _woman to woman_. I'll fill you in on some things which are expected of you from now on. You see, Shard has been relieved of his charge for you. _Remi_ has that honor now." Glare smiled wickedly, her green eyes gloating. Misty clenched her fists, desperately wanting to finish what she had started with Glare's cheek.

"What do you mean?"

Glare's grin only deepened. "Shard was ordered into the brig, _solitary confinement_. It's his punishment for bad behavior. One simply can not go around attacking their fellow Rockets with Pokemon and stuff. Bad boys get bad punishments."

"You bitch!" Misty shouted. "You were attacking him and I-"

"Now, now," Glare shook her gun, drawing Misty's attention to it. "Watch the language. Why do you care anyway?" Glare paused, waiting for Misty to answer. When Misty did not say anything, Glare went on. "It seems that you may have formed a slightly unhealthy attachment to Elite Rocket Shard. Not that I blame you, he is totally hot with all with those muscles and dimples and all. Hell," Glare chuckled to herself, "I fell for him too once, did you know that? Shard is my _ex-_boyfriend."

Misty flinched, genuinely taken aback by Glare's words.

Glare tisked. "Charming as he may be, that Shard is a problem. Trust me, he is never happy, always brooding one moment then flirting with other women the next. I couldn't handle that. I'm the jealous type. I broke the hand of the first chick that flirted with him," Glare grinned proudly. "I broke the leg of the second, it went downhill from there. Ah, but he's just too darn pretty, the ladies were always circling. Shard said that I was _too_ possessive. _Whatever._ I would just rather see him dead then with some lousy bimbo. Is that so wrong? I'm afraid that he's also our boss's favorite Rocket. It just won't do. Shard can't cross me both professionally and personally. I don't handle that well. So, great bod aside, he needs to go."

Misty shook her head, struggling to keep up with Glare's fanatical ramblings. "Why are you telling me this, Glare?"

"Poor girl, being engaged to that dreamy Pokemon Master has only caused you a world of trouble, hasn't it? I sympathize, honey. Really, I do. See what men do to us? _Honestly!_ Then again that poor Master Ketchum _is_ bustin' his balls to rescue you when, unbeknownst to him, you are getting comfy with_ your kidnapper_," Glare's tone became ice. "Remi and I have hired a freelance assassin. A really good one too, top notch. He'll be murdering Shard tonight while he's locked up and helpless in that brig. Actually," Glare peeked at her wrist watch, "he's probably killing him right this very second!" Glare delivered the news like a birth announcement. "Cool beans, right? Well, I'll be back soon. Get some rest and have pleasant dreams."

Glare exited the room leaving Misty alone with the tremendous burden of her words. This vile knowledge devoured Misty's thoughts -- threatened to rip the sanity from her mind.

_A freelance assassin . . . killing him right now! NO! Shard! You can't die! _Misty rushed at the metal door – pounding, screaming! She begged it to open until her fists ached and her throat was raw_. DAMN!_ Misty was powerless to warn Shard. They were going to kill him! What if he was. . .

Already dead?

_No . . ._

Misty clung to the image of those shattered, beautiful eyes . . . they could _not_ be lifeless. They were eyes who longed to _live,_ eyes that watched life and yearned to join it. They were eyes that belonged to a broken young man – to a mysterious tragic past. Misty had no idea what had made Shard that way . . . so sad, so in need of_ someone_ to care . . . but Misty knew that she could help him. Somehow, someway. He just could not die. If she could only be granted a second_ merciful_ chance to see Shard again. There just had to be a way to put him back together. Misty was drowning in terror, consumed within horrible threats -- threats against herself, against Ash against the very world itself. She was helpless to defend any of _these_ things. She _needed_ one thing in her life to be possible, to be tangible, and to be _savable._ And there was only one person Misty felt confident that she could help. That person was Shard.

When Shard had left earlier, he was so angry with her -- and Misty had had a terrible feeling then that something was going to happen to him. Now Glare had confirmed Misty's earlier instincts. But Misty remained focused. She HAD to find a way to save Shard – not only from this assassin and from Team Rocket . . . but from _himself._

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Author's Note: HAPPY NEW YEAR! My, oh, my that was a dramatic chapter. I can't even tell you how long this one took to write. I've been at it for umpteen days, therefore reviews are so very much appreciated. Your words are what keep me writing.

Thank you so much for reading and reviewing and don't forget to join our Live Journal community "Egoshipping Central" the link is on my page. Maia's Pen.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Shard considered himself to be a patient man, one who prided himself with nerves like steel. But even the toughest most enduring steel will eventually bend if placed beneath a burdensome weight. And it was Elite Rocket Remington who was this encumbrance of weight -- heavy and unbearably irritating, like a bowling ball balancing upon a pinhead. Shard's tolerance for his domineering commands had bent to its breaking point and when Shard snapped it would be a sound heard all around the Rocket base.

"FASTER!" the older Rocket kicked at Shard's heels, urging him to make haste down the final hallway before the brig. "C'mon, quit stalling!" Remington raised is leg, preparing to kick Shard in his shins, only Shard spun around and side-stepped the obvious assault.

"You know, Remington," Shard flashed a haughty grin, "You might have missed your calling as a Taurus driver."

"Shut your face and keep moving."

Shard tisked, deciding it was _his _turn to grate nerves. "Remington, you know what your problem is? You're lacking a good sense of humor. Not that I blame you for it though, dating Glare does tend to drain ones appreciation of wit from their soul. The world becomes so black and-"

Remington shoved him backward. Shard stumbled but swiftly regained his footing (as well as his grin). "That's enough! Don't talk about Glare! Just keep walking and shut up."

"Make me."

Remington cussed, rolling up his sleeves. "You asked for it pretty boy, you'll bleed to death in that brig before morning."

Shard beckoned him forward. "Let's go."

"_Hey!_ You two better knock it off," N.K. grumbled like a thunder storm, pushing himself between the two younger Rockets. Until now N.K. had been trailing them silently toward the brig. The bald man rarely had much to say -- he preferred to billow around looking ominous. Most Rockets were terrified of him -- as they very well should be -- after all, N.K. did stand for _Night Killer. _However Shard was one of the few Rockets who did not run away when spying N.K. down a corridor. N.K. was stronger than he was but the man would have a hell of a time trying to catch or outwit Shard if he ever intended him harm. Besides, Shard felt sympathy for the guy – rumor had it he'd been bald since he was twenty.

Remington looked to his counterpart, dismay crippling his features.

"I'm serious, Remington," N.K. went on. "If da boss sees dat Shard is any more banged up when he comes outta da brig tomorrow then he is now you'll be spending tomorrow night in dere. You know I'm right."

Remington hesitated, Shard mockingly nodded along with everything N.K. was saying.

"You smug son of a bitch, Shard! Damn. But N.K. is right, I can't touch you right now. But you are going to get yours, Shard, just wait."

"Oh, really?" Shard's hands flew to his cheeks with extreme melodrama. "I'm so worried! Gee, thanks for warning me, Remi. Whatever shall I do?"

Remington raised his fist but N.K. stopped him, grabbing his arm. "You know I'm right, Remington. Let's just put 'em away in the brig already."

The three walked the final steps to the brig in silence. When they arrived at the door Remington punched in the electronic key code to open it. Shard glanced inside and all he could see was . . . nothing. Nothing but obscure blackness -- like peering into a hole in the ground. Shard felt like he was about to step inside the mouth of a huge Golbat, slide down its throat and never been seen again. Shard glanced at Remington, the man was glowing with joy at Shard's less-than-enthusiastic reaction.

"Go on, get in," Remington pointed to the brig, his tone like a scolding Growlithe trainer.

Shard turned his back to the other Rockets and prepared to enter only he did not get the chance. An abrupt pain seared Shard's scalp – a gripping force upon his hair. Shard was being jerked backward. He immediately realized that N.K. had snatched a fistful of his hair. "THIS," N.K. snarled– and with far _too much_ volume, "you deserve!" no sooner had N.K. yanked him backward was he now pushing Shard forward, shoving him into the brig. However -- during the split-second it took N.K. to hurl Shard forward -- he ever-so-quietly whispered one word into Shard's ear:

"_Assassin."_

The brig door slammed shut behind Shard. The young Rocket was alone in the pit of the Golbat's gut. Trapped. As the utter blackness devoured him Shard did not crumple or shiver or cry out. N.K.'s word blared in Shard's skull like an alarm . . .

. . . and his mind was already operating at light-speed.

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Ash Ketchum sat in Pewter Cities hospital waiting room. He had been sitting there all night -- perhaps six, seven or more hours. He had no idea how long he'd been in the same chair. Just sitting. Just waiting. Helpless to aid anyone, even himself. The concept of time seemed unfathomable right now. Ash honestly had no idea how long Misty had been missing. Since the Rockets took her time had been spinning out of control for Ash. He neither slept or moved or thought normally anymore. Time was just an evil _thing _that was ticking away the minutes of Misty's life. And then last night -- as that bullet sank within Lance -- time became far worse than an evil _thing, i_t became an enemy more vile than Team Rocket.

The woman he loved and his mentor, both were threatened by time. Misty was on the Rocket's dire clock, and Lance's mortality was being deducted by beings with far greater power than any Pokemon. Ash wasn't sure if he believed in any gods, but if they were real, he prayed that they would spare his friend. He prayed that they could all be granted more time. And Ash prayed that Team Rocket would NOT be victorious in stealing them both away. What would Ash do if Misty and Lance were to perish? The doctors had informed him that Lance had little chance for survival. He was in critical condition and on a life-support system. Lance could no longer breathe on his own. And Misty . . . she was in the clutches of the world's most feared terrorists -- thieves and killers known for their lack of mercy. Ash would trade places with them both if he could. But self-sacrifice was not an option here, saving Misty and Lance was not that easy. In fact, saving Lance was entirely out of Ash's control. Misty would only die if he failed to free the monster. But freeing the monster was not possible. It had MURDERED Professor Oak! It had slaughtered hundreds of innocent people. He would not free it. Ash had vowed to protect that creature from Team Rocket.

Ash sighed into his hands; his mind was operating in slow-motion. He felt as though he were trying run against a tidal wave. No human could conquer such a wave. The help of a Pokemon would be in order. . .

Just like plan B.

Only . . . Ash _needed _Lance's help. How could he save Misty without him? Lance was his rock -- the anchor which kept the wave from sweeping him to his doom at sea. Could Ash initiate plan B without him? Did he even have the strength left to try?

_I have to,_ Ash thought, burying his face in his hands. _Misty is counting on me._ _And I can NOT loose them both._

"Master Ketchum?" Ash nearly jumped, he had not expected the I.C.U. nurse to approach him. The nurse was elderly and had a sweet smile; she seemed apologetic for startling him. "If you are ready, please come with me."

"To see Lance?" Ash rubbed at his ears, he was insufferably tired and wanted to make certain he was hearing her right. The nurse nodded thoughtfully and Ash bounced to his feet. He did not need to be asked twice.

Ash followed the nurse down a very long hallway; at the end was a room with the words: '_PRIVATE. Dragon Master' _upon the door. Two armored guards were posted diligently here; no one would risk that Rocket returning to finish what she began.

"Go on in, Master Ketchum. You'll have complete privacy and I'll be waiting for you out here. Go say what you need to." The nurse unlocked the door. Ash inhaled, mentally preparing himself for the sight of Lance helpless and unconscious in a hospital bed. No doubt he would have all kinds of wires and tubes hooked up to him. It would be difficult to see. Ash entered the room and there was Lance . . . in a white hospital gown . . .

. . . on . . . the floor . . .

. . . doing. . .

. . . PUSH-UPS?

He was doing push-ups!

WHAT THE HELL?

"Lance!" Ash squeaked like a puberty-stricken teen, he rushed toward his friend, nearly tripping on a chair.

The Dragon Master leapt to his feet like a Samurai, he stood up to his full height and flashed Ash a toothy-grin.

"Lance, what? I – I don't under-"

"Shh," Lance pushed past Ash, making certain that the door was locked behind him. He then turned to the Pokemon Master, his grin fading to an apologetic smile. "The world needs to believe that I'm dying, Ash."

A grin had been tugging Ash's lips, however, he would not allow it show. Of course Ash was thrilled that Lance was healthy . . . BEYOND THRILLED, but . . .

"Dammit!" anger consumed Ash like a _Surf Attack_! He charged Lance, griping him by his shoulders and forcing eye contact. "Why did_ I_ need to believe that? I've been freaking out! I've been blaming myself-"

"Calm down," Lance maneuvered from Ash's grasp and plopped down on his hospital bed. "Sit, let me explain," Lance gestured to a chair opposite the bed. Ash clenched his jaw, relief and betrayal clashing across his face.

"How are you not dying?" Ash demanded. "You were shot at point-blank range, Lance."

"Aren't you happy I'm alive?"

"Don't joke. What's going on?"

Lance frowned, raking fingers through his red spikes. "I was wearing a bullet-proof vest."

"WHAT!"

"I suspected someone might try and take me out. Especially since that same Rocket, Glare, tired to kill me last year and failed. I wore the vest just in case."

"Why wasn't I given a vest?" Ash threw his hands in air, struggling to keep his voice down. "What if they shot me too?"

"They wouldn't have dared, they need you alive."

"Why didn't you tell me that you were wearing one?"

Lance forced a smile. "Ash, no offence, but you might have . . . accidentally given it away. Your fear had to be real. We had to convince them you were mentally breaking."

"I HAVE BEEN!" Ash bolted upright, unable to look at Lance.

"Ash," Lance stood, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry that I frightened you. Trust me, this was part of my backup plan."

Ash froze now, returning his sight upon the Dragon Master. "I'm listening. But so far I fail to see how you pretending to be dying can get Misty back."

"The Rockets are going to think I'm dying – that _you_ are wrought with grief. That you will make a hasty decision to release their monster now. That you are desperate to spare another loved one from death. Ash, I have to lay low. You need to leave this room and announce to the media that I am going to be dead within a few hours. You need to encourage Team Rocket to contact you, and then," Lance squeezed his shoulder. "You need to proceed with plan B. Professor Elm is already waiting for you back at the plateau. He has instructions and knows what to do. You won't be alone."

Ash exhaled now, he felt as though hours of anxiety had finally expired from his system. "Lance, I'm glad you're okay." Ash met his friends eyes, he meant every word.

Lance smiled warmly. "Go, on, Ash. Misty is counting on you. We all are."

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Being buried alive is a haunting nightmare shared by many. Elite Rocket Shard wondered if _this_ is what it might feel like? Trapped alone within a tiny space. A space where blackness engulfs your very soul. Trapped where light and comfort are naught but distant memories. Shard wrinkled his nose at the thought. Fortunately he would not be crammed in here for long.

Shard opted to keep his eyes closed. There was obviously no point in straining them within the dark. With his lids sealed tight, Shard began pacing the compact space of the brig. He needed to memorize how many steps wide it was. N.K.'s _word_ proved that Shard _needed _to memorize all aspects of this space, his life depended on it. Shard had no idea why N.K. had decided to warm him of the assassin, but Shard was grateful. Granted, he had suspected that Glare and Remington would probably attempt to have him killed at some point, he had just not suspected it so soon. No matter. This hired assassin was no doubt on his or her way to murder him. Or, at least that would be the assassin's ill-indented plan, and of course Shard would see to it that plan would fail. Instead Shard had a strategy of his own and in it the assassin would end up dying instead. Shard liked the outcome of his plan much better.

What were Glare and Remington thinking anyway? If Shard was killed in the brig then their Boss would suspect that _they_ set it up . . . unless. . .

_Ah, yes, _no doubt the assassin had instructions to remove and destroy his body -- making it _look_ as though Shard had escaped and fled Team Rocket never to be seen again, _blah, blah, blah_. So predictable. The Boss would have figured that out too. Shard was probably doing Glare and Remington a favor by foiling their murder attempt. Shard sneered to himself, insulted that Glare and Remington's plan was so thinly-veiled. Did they not realize how shrewd he was? This was not even a challenge! Granted, he had N.K. to thank for the heads-up, but Shard was still confident that he would have overcome this assassin even if caught by surprise. He was a professional after all. In any event, Shard was now ready.

It is true that Shard _had_ surrendered his gun and Pokeballs at his boss's request. And, when The Boss had pressed him to surrender all effects, Shard had also given up his taser and knife. However, The Boss had not asked him a third time (despite the blatant doubt plastered on his face) and so Shard had innocently forgotten about the brass knuckle set inside his boots. It was an honest mistake. The Boss had trusted him and not ordered him to be frisked, therefore it was not entirely Shard's fault that he was still armed.

Smiling to himself, Shard removed his boots and fixed the heavy brass knuckles to his hands. Killing a person via brass knuckles was terribly brutal and bloody . . . it was far more gruesome than Shard wished to operate. He preferred to take life quickly and painlessly -- generally via a gunshot to the head or a vital organ. He only reduced himself to such savagery in times of desperation. Shard decided that _this _qualified as one of them. He also assumed that this assassin would come armed with a gun and then Shard would only need his knuckles to knock the culprit off guard. Once the tables were turned Shard could then end the assassins' life humanely with their own weapon.

Finally, there was the matter of the body to deal with . . .

Shard had to make certain that he killed this assassin in a clean sort of way. He could not leave mounds of blood splattered about as evidence. Shard considered this challenge thoroughly -- brass knuckles were just plain messy. _Humm . . . _the assassin would have to unlock the door to gain access to him. And no doubt Glare had temporarily shut down the security cameras to cloak her crime. With the door open and the cameras off Shard would be free to drag the body to the garbage shoot across the room. The body would be incinerated along with Team Rocket's trash. There was also a sink down the hall if Shard needed to do any emergency clean-up. If Shard worked quickly he might even have time to dodge security cameras back to Misty's room. Then he could check on her and make sure she was alright. Naturally he would return to the brig before his twenty four hour detainment was over. Shard needed to appear as the obedient Rocket when The Boss came to free him tomorrow. Plus, he would not want to miss the looks on Glare's and Remington's faces when he strut out of the brig unharmed. They would drive themselves insane wondering how he had endured – wondering what had happened to their fancy assassin. But Glare and Remington would never breathe a word of it. They would suffer in silence and curse him behind closed doors. It was a rather satisfying thought and Shard could not help but entertain it. If The Boss ever suspected their dirty game he would have them de-ranked at once. But a de-ranking would only infuriate Glare and Remington further, in fact, it would potentially push them toward more blood-shed. Shard's best option was to say nothing, play dumb and continue on as he always had . . . the obedient Rocket. The ever-steady gear in the Team Rocket machine.

With his brass knuckles adorned Shard felt along the brig walls until he touched the crease of the exit. The assassin would expect him to be pacing around or sleeping, therefore Shard plastered himself against the wall directly next to the door. When the assassin entered, gun raised, he or she would be momentarily caught off guard when not seeing Shard where he was expected to be. And -- in this mortally brief moment -- Shard would attack.

Fate had a very interesting sense of humor for, no sooner did Shard assume_ his_ attack position, did he hear a faint clicking sound . . .

. . . the door lock was released -- meaning this assassin had flawlessly punched in the correct security codes.

Shard's eyes opened in sync with the door and the brig was now flooded with light. The assassin crashed into the brig like a well-practiced upper-cut – skilled and fast -- then instantly assumed a fighting stance. Alarm jabbed at Shard, urging him into action. He knew exactly what to do. Within the very nano-second that the assassin emerged, Shard had already studied him: he was not armed with a regular gun, rather an old fashion blowgun. The weapon no doubt contained a lethal dose of toxin. It was a humane and very silent means to murder someone . . . _how thoughtful of Glare_. The assassin -- who Shard determined to be male – hesitated. The assassin was clearly wondering where his victim was. This man was wrapped in black from head to toe like a ninja.

Like a freaky _Jack-In-The-Box_ toy the assassins head snapped in Shard's direction. Just as the blowgun went to the assassins' mouth did Shard's fist land in his face. The man grunted loudly as the metal collided with his nose -- he staggered backwards, nearly falling over. Shard imagined that blood was seeping through the assassins mask, only he couldn't tell because it was black. Shard reached out -- planning to snatch the blowgun -- however this assassin was a pro, he dodged Shard's hand with the agility of a Pikachu! The man retaliated at once and his heel crashed painfully with Shard's knee. Shard fell backward, his head hitting the wall. For a moment he feared that his knee was broken, but he was soon able to spring to his feet thus disproving that concern.

"Bad idea," Shard hissed, knuckles cracking.

The assassin said nothing, drawing the blowgun to his lips again. The assassin may have moved like a Pikachu but Shard was certainly the Raichu! Shard attacked at full-throttle! He punched the assassin with twin blows to the gut -- the man buckled, blowgun slipping from his grasp. As the assassins' backside hit the floor, Shard leapt atop him! The two men grappled fiercely until Shard had the assassin pinned beneath his knees. Shard snatched the blowgun off the floor and pressed it to his own lips.

"No! Wait!" the assassin squealed like a young Swinub, wriggling frantically beneath Shard's superior hold.

"You should have thought this possibility through before you accepted the job." Shard's tone was cold and lecturing . . . unfeeling like a machine.

"It'll kill me! Please, don't, I have a family-" Shard ground his knee into the mans throat, severing his pleas for mercy. Shard stared down at his victim: squirming and pathetic like a Weedle grub in a Fearow nest. This guy actually thought he could conquer _him—Elite Rocket Shard? _It was disgraceful. The man deserved to die . . .

_So_, Shard wondered, _why am I hesitating?_ This assassin certainly would not have granted _him_ the pity of a hesitation. Shard pressed his knee deeper into the mans throat, keeping just enough pressure from the trachea _not_ to asphyxiate him. _Misty . . . _she was hindering him. She was causing this . . . hesitation . . . this _confliction _within him. Shard recalled the last words she had spoken to him . . . she said that he was more than _just a Rocket—a killer. Misty believed he was better than this, beyond murder. _The assassin writhed beneath him, gurgling, bubbly drool soaking through his mask. Shard stiffened . . . maybe he did not have to kill this man? Maybe he could free him, make him promise never to come back? Surly this man realized his mistake and he would go back to his family and . . . and . . .

The assassin went suddenly still beneath him.

Shard flinched, quickly pulling his knee from the mans throat. He dropped the blowgun, his fingers now searching for a pulse . . . for any signs of life. . .

Shard's his heart hammered against his ribcage . . .

. . . His hands examined the assassins' throat . . . it. . .

. . . was . . . broken.

Shard had crushed his trachea. He had not been paying attention. . .

Shard exhaled. _It doesn't matter, _he instructed himself, _and you were planning to kill him anyway, as he had been planning to kill you. There is no loss. No remorse. It was him or you. If he had killed you then Misty would have also been doomed. You needed to stay alive to help her. _Shard knew the truth in his thoughts, yet his fingers trembled and his eyes felt suddenly very heavy -- as though burdened with an unspeakable weight.

Shard rose to his feet and surveyed the area -- it was flawless. No blood. The brig door was still open. Shard hoisted the assassins' body over his shoulder and headed for the garbage shoot across the room. The assassins body would be instantly reduce to ashes and Shard still had plenty of time to sneak down the hall to check on Misty. Shard wagered it was about six o'clock in the morning. Most Rockets would be sleeping now anyway. This was an ideal time to slip away.

Shard opened the garbage shoot and placed the assassins' body inside. He watched as the body slid away, disappearing into the furnace. Shard's fingers trembled harder now, and, he realized the weight upon his eyes was from moisture . . .

It felt foreign . . .

Emotion was not supposed to sting a machine. Machines did not regret. Machines did not feel sorrow. They certainly did not second-guess themselves or . . . lose their hearts. _Machines did not feel – period_. That was what he had wanted all along, to go numb, to stop feeling. He had lusted for it – _the numbness_ – seeking it brought him to Team Rocket to begin with.

Shard shut his eyes, hoping that, in turn, these wretched feelings would look away as well. But they did not cease, their eyes were lidless and they continued to glare. Glare and gawk and scrutinize -- burning him beneath a miserable spotlight until he buckled, falling to his knees, hands over his eyes. Shard shuddered as emotional quakes threatened to shred him to bits . . . break him into shards . . . shards of a once strong machine, shards of a once smart, talented boy, shards of a moral human being. . . a loving grandson. . .

But Shard was not that person anymore . . . he was only just a _shard_ of that boy. And that boy was only just a shard in his memory. A painful, glacial, jagged shard. He had tried in vain to forget himself, and for a while, it had worked. He was an incredible Rocket . . . he had climbed the ranks on his own. He was the best and had become so on his own merit, his own skill. He was no ones shadow . . . _but he was a shard of that boy._ He had been successful in locking that boy away and all of his problems and failures and hopes and dreams . . . so what had changed all of a sudden? Why was he breaking apart now? Why was that boy's shard stabbing at his heart?

Shard breathed carefully, steadying himself. _Misty . . . _her name resounded in his mind like the chorus of a beautiful song. He had to get to her. He had to see her . . . he had to warn her . . .

Because keeping her alive was the only thing that could either put him back together or shatter him wholly. Either way, Shard was done being half man and half machine. He would either break permanently or shed the metal forever.

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Misty had spent the past two hours banging on the metal door. Her fists ached and nearly all of her nails were broken or bleeding. Despite her best efforts the door remained shut. Misty could not save Shard from the assassin. She was sealed in this room like a laboratory Raticate – helpless and waiting for her lethal dose of drugs. Misty retreated to the bed and buried her face in her knees. What more could she possibly do? Her only company was her thoughts and they were only capable of tormenting her. Her thoughts asked her: Was Shard dead? Was his body lying in some dark brig? Had he suffered? Or was he still alive? There was a chance that Shad had been able to overcome his assassin. After all, Shard was a killer too -- as he had reminded Misty during their last conversation, or rather their last fight. Misty huffed loudly, leaning backward and falling into the bed.

Her thoughts continued their rant. . . Glare had been SO confident – _SO certain_ that Shard would be eliminated. Misty squeezed her eyes shut . . . she could suddenly hear Professor Oak in her ear:

_Often those things we regard as certain can surprise us with their uncertainty. _

His words were the only thing she could cling to now. She had to trust that they would rein true in regard to Glare's plans.

_Oh, Professor, _Misty remembered his gentle face, _if only you were still alive, I just know that you would have all of the answers. I just know that you would be able to save the world from this monster Pokemon again. _Misty had been thinking about Professor Oak quite a bit since her abduction. It was only natural, she decided, her entire abduction _was_ spurred by the desire to unleash his killer upon the world.

_But . . ._

Misty sat up, her mind reeling in an uncomfortable direction . . . there was more to it than that . . . there was _something else_ here that reminded her of the old professor. There was. . . _Shard._

Misty rose to her feet and began pacing the room. When she had removed Shard's mask something about him had seemed _familiar . . ._ did SHARD remind her of Professor Oak?

_Yes. _The way Shard spoke; carried himself; his mannerisms . . . his interests . . . he was very much like the professor. It was strange. It was almost like Shard was . . .

"Miss Waterflower!"

Misty was abruptly wrenched from her snarled notions. Entirely startled, she spun on her heels to see SHARD slipping though the doorway!

"Shard?" Misty's impulse-control spontaneously combusted, without any forethought she rushed at Shard, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. Shard seemed completely surprised by her affectionate reaction and he stiffened slightly -- as though the concept of a hug was utterly foreign to him. Misty sensed his discomfort, but it did not detract from her sheer joy at seeming him ALIVE. After a moment, Misty felt his strong hands on her back. He stroked her hair -- though somewhat awkwardly-- and seemed to be holding his breath. Misty pressed her face into his chest, she could not quite explain it, but, for the first time since her abduction she felt . . . _safe_. "You're okay, Shard!" Misty glanced up at him now, her eyes soaking every detail of his masked-face. "Glare was here after you left, she said an assassin was going to kill you. I was so worried!"

Shard peered down at her, forcing a tense smile. "He tried to kill me."

Misty tilted her head, concerned. "What do you mean? Are you alright? Why aren't you in the brig? How did you get here, to my room?"

Shard took Misty's hands in his, squeezing them gently. This time his touch was not awkward, but soothing and natural . . . it felt right. He pursed his lips for a moment, trying to catch up to all of her questions. "Technically, I am still in the brig. I'm not here. You never saw me. Got it?'

Misty nodded. "Of course, but-"

"Glare and Remington did hire an assassin. I killed him. I snuck out to check on you and I have to get back there _ASAP_ before anyone knows I'm gone. I've been sneaking past security cameras all the way here, luckily I have their patterns memorized or I'd have been shot dead by now."

"You killed him?" Misty held her breath, digesting the bulk of those words. The very hands she was holding now, the hands that held her so tenderly . . . these hands had just . . . killed someone. Misty gathered her resolve quickly, realizing that Shard had little choice . . . but, even if he had had a choice would he have spared the assassin? Misty shut her eyes, it no longer mattered. In this place a conscience was a burden.

"I had too, you know this," Shard's tone held a defensive edge. "Besides saving my own neck, I had to come here to warn _you_."

"Warn me?"

"My boss plans to have you killed regardless if Ash frees our Pokemon or not."

Misty did not even flinch at his chilling words. "I'm not surprised at all. Hell, your boss allowed an assassination attempt against _you_ under _his _Rocket roof! Why is your boss letting Glare go after you like this? How could he have let that happen? He must have known about it!" her face flushed with rage.

"Miss Waterflower," Shard was probably looking into her eyes right now, but she could not be sure with the mask in the way. He sounded exhausted. "This is the Rocket way. We are the bad guys, remember?" he smiled softly . . . but there was no jest behind those lips, Shard's smile was sad.

Misty gripped his hands harder, her eyes like green searchlights upon his face. "But, Shard, you are not a _bad guy._"

"I . . . I never wanted to be." The words left his lips now in one mighty gush -- like a dam which long confined a river of grief, now shattering after years of wear and tear. Shard's hands trembled ever-so-slightly within hers. He pulled back a moment as though debating whether or not to move away, but for whatever reason he remained where he was and faced her. Shard's expression was ridged, anxious -- as though cursed with a dire confession which he was forbidden to reveal.

"Misty," for the first time Shard spoke her name – it blew from his lips like a warm summer gale. Only, hearing it warmed Misty in ways a gale never could. Shard continued on and Misty was entranced, willfully being carried off by the winds of his voice. "When I joined Team Rocket it was out of desperation. I never imagined myself becoming what I am now . . . a thief and a killer. It was not my boyhood dream, far from it."

Shard hesitated, studying her reaction. Misty held her tongue and nodded, encouraging him to continue.

"Maybe you were right before, Misty. About what you said. . . I'm not _free. _But this is the life that I chose and it is far too late to choose otherwise. My only other option is a bullet in my head. When the assassin came at me tonight I was quick to immobilize him. He begged for is life – as they always do – and I never think twice, I kill them anyway. They are nothing to me. That is my job. But this time . . . it got to me, _YOU _got to me. I hesitated. I considered letting him go, I had him pinned below me, my knee to his throat and I . . . killed him. . . I didn't even mean to. It was an accident, but a necessary one. I realize that. But I was _actually thinking_ about letting him go. I-I-" Shard pulled from her grasp now, he was breathing in short gasps. "I'm not sure what is right or wrong anymore. I don't _feel _things like everyone else does, like you do, Misty. And at the same time I feel _too much_. I am supposed to be a reliable part of the machine. And I am, or. . . I_ was_, but that's changing now. I met you and something has changed inside me. You are so good, Misty, so caring and selfless. I don't doubt you would die to spare the entire world from our Pokemon. I was like that once . . . I was a good person too. But I can't remember how that felt. I don't know how to be like that. How do I understand what are truly the right and the wrong paths?" Shard's voice was trembling along with his hands.

Shard -- a man who had scoffed in deaths face, probably a hundred times – now sounded frightened. Frightened out of his mind. The warm gale was overwhelmed by a chilling arctic storm. Spinning like a cyclone, Shard turned his back to her. Misty reached out to touch him, to comfort him –_thaw him! _She could not let him freeze over again! If the ice was going melt then Misty would be there to cup every droplet in her hands. But her fingers were not destined to touch him. Shard moved out of her range and toward the door. "At this point," his voice had frozen completely over again, she was too late, "we are both doomed. They are going to kill you and Glare won't stop until I'm dead too. Misty, if you want to get out alive you MUST become selfish. You are going to have to trust me. Let me be the_ selfless _one -- for once in my life."

Shard left her now, no doubt to return to the brig. Misty was abandoned again -- dozens of fears and alarms flinging around the whirlwind of her mind. Only, there was one persistent thought which managed to escape the whirlwind and catch up to her. It was a thought which had clung to the tip of her brain—about to be realized- right before Shard had arrived. This thought had been quietly nagging her since. Misty focused her mind on Professor Oak and then on Shard. On how familiar Shard was and _WHY._ On Shard's mask and then on his beautiful naked face. On his brilliant knowledge of Pokemon. And then, on something he had told her when he had taken her to the Rocket pool to swim: _he almost drowned once. _Shard may not have had the Ph.D after his name but he was in every way a professor to rival Oak himself. It were as though the old professor had personally trained him . . . Shard's mannerisms, his speech, his haughty ego . . . his age, his brown hair, blue eyes . . .

Misty gasped.

The whirlwind fizzled away leaving one quiet word drifting gently across her mind. This one word was a name.

"They never did find his body. . ."

0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0

Authors Note: Enjoy! There are not many chapters left, so please review and keep me motivated. I could really use it -- I am taking 16 credits this semester and will have no free time to write! YIKES, I need motivation. Thanks, Maia


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Remington came for Misty with a blindfold and handcuffs outstretched. Fortunately for Shard his adversary came hours after he had left Misty's company to return to the brig. Remington told Misty that she had "best cooperate"; he said that he was taking her "somewhere _important"_. Misty translated his vague words to mean one thing: she was being escorting her to her doom.

Misty stared at Remington for a moment, hesitating, debating whether or not to fight him, whether it was worth it to kick and to scream. She could hold her own, Misty was confident of that, but Remington was a good head taller than her and probably weighted twice as much. Misty nodded at her captor, approaching him slowly. She held her hands out, offering herself to the cuffs. Attacking Remington was futile and such a bold act would only guarantee her impending demise to be _more_ wretched.

The metal cuffs clicked tight, binding her hands – they were heavy, but not as heavy as her heart. Misty thought of Shard and she remembered his final words . . . he had told Misty that she _could_ survive this nightmare but only if she got _selfish_. Perhaps selfish meant playing the proper hostage in order to endure? Swallowing pride and vomiting obedience, submissiveness? Misty was not sure . . . but she knew that she HAD to hold out faith that Shard would somehow rescue her. And he could not rescue her if she were dead.

As though scanning Misty's thoughts Remington was quick to darken them with the blindfolded. Misty was immediately led through a dizzying series of corridors, she felt as though she had been walking in darkness for a very long time before Remington finally stopped.

Misty held her breath. She heard a _clicking_ sound . . . much like the locking and loading of a riffle. Luckily, it proved to be the sound of a door being unlocked. Remington pushed her inside a room. Misty stumbled, her ears reddening as the Rocket grunted with amusement at her misstep. Misty ground her teeth, wishing she could transform into a Scyther and slice his tongue right out!

Remington removed the blindfold and cuffs now. The light struck Misty's eyes like a sudden starburst – flashing, white-hot and intense. Misty rubbed at them, attempting in vain to speed up the adjustment processes. After a moment her eyes were focused once again, Misty scanned her new environment. She was in a room . . . it was an office of sorts, very ornate and very grand – the largest office she had ever seen. Even Ash's Masters Quarters dwarfed in comparison. Before Misty was a table, it was made from solid _Apricorn_ wood with a marble top. The table could easily sit a dozen people. Toward the rear of the room was a desk and it too looked to be carved from _Apricorn _wood. There was a leather chair behind the desk but it was spun away from Misty. She was unsure if it was occupied. Misty's sight was now drawn to the walls -- all four were painted gold and decorated lavishly. Of particular interest were a set of paintings . . . exquisite renditions of Pokemon, everything from a Persian to a Golem to . . .

_The monster._ The largest painting of all was a shrine to chaos and ruin – a flawless reproduction of the terrible monster Pokemon. Misty shuddered, turning to Remington. "Where am I?" she dared.

Remington pointed her toward the desk. "My boss will speak with you, Miss Waterflower."

Misty gasped, a lump of dread swelling in her throat. "Your boss wants to speak with _me_? Why?"

Remington lanced her with an annoyed stare. "Do not question his will. Go over to the desk."

What choice did she have? Misty obeyed. With a Slowpoke's pace she closed the distance between the desk and herself. Her feet felt burdened with a tremendous weight, as though an invisible Geodude clung to each shoe. As she neared the desk, Misty now perceived that someone _WAS_ sitting in the chair. She had not noticed before as it was spun around, the back to her. Now, just a yard away Misty saw a Persian tail -- she also saw a large mans hand stroking the Pokemon.

Misty felt as though an explosion had gone off in her chest – that her heart had suddenly ruptured. Never in her entire life had she been so terrified. Icy sweat dripped down her brow, drizzled down her back . . . her jaw screamed with agony as she fought to keep it still, to prevent her teeth from chattering. Then, suddenly, Misty stopped in her tracks, she forced a breath . . . after all the hell she had suffered, _why now_ was she giving way to panic and fright? Was Team Rockets boss not just a man? Should she really fear him so deeply . . . or . . . should she instead loath him? Instead of cowering like a weakling should Misty not storm him with rage? Did he deserve any less than a punch square in his face? Misty's fear dissolved into fury -- a dangerous _seething_ kind of fury, an emotion one only experiences knowing they are going to die. When they know they are about to come face-to-face with the devil himself.

The most wanted man on the planet was but an arms length from her. The most despised criminal mastermind on the planet. Misty hurled Shard's warning from her mind, resolving in this moment, that _maybe_ she could attack this big bad boss? She would just have to do it faster than Remington could draw his gun.

"Remington, you may leave now," ordered the boss. His voice . . . it was not how Misty would have imagined the devils voice to sound. He did not boom or rasp with diabolical lust. Instead Team Rocket's leader spoke with calming command – his tone clear and captivating like an expert Hypno -- and no louder than needed to reach Remington's ears. Remington complied at once and exited the room. It was not necessary for the boss to raise his voice to instill obedience in his Rockets. "Miss Waterflower, how are you?" he addressed her directly now.

Misty shivered -- her face burning with rage, yet her body frozen in place. Team Rockets boss did not wait for her to answer, he continued: "I recommend you have a seat. There is a chair to the right."

"I prefer to stand." Despite her nerves, Misty's voice held conviction.

"Very well then." Like an uncoiling Arbok did the chair twist slowly toward her . . .

Misty poised herself, head high, fists clenched . . . she was prepared too rip his head off with her bare hands.

But she was not prepared for. . .

"Giovanni!" Misty gasped, her eyes at once recognizing his face.

"Hello, Misty," Giovanni, the Viridian City gym leader, stood up from his chair. He smiled at her and gingerly took her hand across the table. "It's been a long time. I don't think we've seen each other since the gym leader conference last fall at the plateau. I trust, until lately, you've been well?"

Misty ripped her hand from Giovanni's as though jerking her fingers from flame. "_You_? YOU are Team Rockets leader? _All this time_? I don't understand!"

Misty knew Giovanni alright; she had known him since she was a child. He was never a close confident, but he was a well-respected man in the Pokemon world. A man she and Ash had looked-up to as children. A man Ash still looked-up to now. How could this have happened? He was supposed to be one of the good guys . . . Misty had trusted him her entire life. She had never suspected _THIS!_

Betrayal and horror clashed across her face — inflaming in her mind like a concussion. Giovanni continued to smile, satisfaction oozed from him like a pussing sore. "I understand you are surprised, Misty. Let's just say I lead a double life. We'll leave it at that for now."

Misty pounded her fists against his desk – she was NOT going to _leave it at that_. "But what about Ash? He thinks you are _his friend_! I thought you were one of us! Oh my god," Misty's hands flew to her mouth as a horrific realization slammed her, "the monster Pokemon . . _. it_ killed all of those people. . . YOU are responsible, Giovanni! _YOU_!" Misty was shouting now, barely able to restrain from banging his head into the desk top. However, she wanted answers from him and she needed his mouth intact in order to get them.

Giovanni simply nodded, not denying any of her words. "Misty, may I ask you a question?"

Misty stared at him – Giovanni stood before her with such control, with such dignity, so _polite _despite her deafening volume. Misty was unable to respond. Giovanni must have taken her silence as a _yes _because he went ahead with his query: "It has come to my attention that you and Shard have become close, would you deny this?"

"What do you mean?" Misty was not following him.

"Have a seat, Misty, _please_," this was not a suggestion. Caught off guard, Misty sat down.

"Misty," Giovanni continued, his tone was smooth like a haunting song. "I know that Shard left the brig last night to visit you. He has been quite the self-appointed guardian to you. Are you, by chance, developing feelings for-"

Misty severed his words -- she knew that Giovanni would talk her into a corner if she wasn't careful. She had to stay alert. "Then you also must know that Glare and Remington have been trying to kill him. They sent an assassin after him last night."

"Of course I do," Giovanni replied matter-of-factly – his tone as though Misty had told him about her morning breakfast bar. "And we will discuss that concern shortly. But you, my dear, are deviating from the current topic. I asked you a question, a reply is requested."

Misty shook her head, her gaze flickering from his probing dark eyes. It was beyond uncomfortable to have _Giovanni_ – the Team Rocket boss– inquiring upon her _feelings _for one of his Rockets. What could her answer possibly matter anyway? Why did he care? Misty met his sight with challenge, deciding that she would verbally springboard a while more.

"I also have a question for you, Giovanni, about Shard," Giovanni tilted his head to the side, encouraging her to go on. "Is Shard Gary Oak?"

The smug grin _now _slid from Giovanni's lips and his fingers frisked tediously through his Persian's fur. "Misty, I find it interesting that you would ask me that question."

"I find it equally _interesting_ that _you _would want to know how I _feel_ about him."

Giovanni's shadowy stare fixed upon her and Misty met him head-on. Their visions merged -- like two raging Tauros about to lock horns. Giovanni held her potent stare with ease. Misty had eyes like emerald lasers but they failed to burn him. She could not disarm him verbally or intimidate him. The smile returned to Giovanni's lips, but it was not smug, it was amused.

"My dear, your lack of an answer has actually given me one. I know the answer to my question."

"Funny, I could say the same to you." Misty felt sweat slide down her spine -- she was trying to match wits with a mastermind, it was exhausting. Her thoughts were rushing, struggling . . . but his words struck her like a tidal wave, that confident smirk a whirl pool – tossing her best defenses about, pulling her down. Misty thought carefully about what to say next, but she was trapped in Giovanni's ocean now and nothing that surfaced here would help her to best him. She clung to what little knowledge she had, struggling to stay afloat, she did not want him to drown her; she had to grasp a hold of her wits! _Think, Misty!_ _THINK!_ Giovanni did not deny her question as to Shard's identity, in fact, he did not even bat an eyelash. Her acquisition did not surprise him in the least. That meant. . .

Misty's was thrown a small life-raft. "Oh my god! Shard really _is_ . . . Gary Oak? How can that be? He died, fell off a cliff!"

"Jumped actually. He _jumped_ off a cliff, not fell," Giovanni corrected. "Misty, I am going to tell you a story. And I would very much appreciate it if you would sit quietly, refraining questions, until my story is completed. Can you do that?"

Misty hesitated, her lips trembling to hold back words, however . . . there was _something_ in Giovanni's gaze that calmed her. _Something _which urged her to comply. Misty had a feeling that Giovanni's _'story'_ WAS important -- that it was somehow important for Shard.

Misty held her tongue and nodded. She would be silent.

"Good girl." Giovanni shut his eyes. It seemed to Misty a long time had passed before he opened them again. Then he exhaled in a way that seemed . . . _final_ . . . that relayed the importance of his words to follow.

Giovanni began his story: "Many years ago, when I was a much younger man than I am today, I fell in love with a woman. Her name was Wendy. And like everything I covet, she was beautiful. Not a woman alive could rival Wendy -- her brown hair was like wavy silk and she had eyes bluer than a Vaporeon. _She was something_, I tell you, and my heart did not stand a chance.'

"I met her first at a gala. Wendy was there with her family -- a husband, infant daughter and her father. Yes, Wendy was married. Married to a very important business man. I was convinced she was married to the _wrong man_. His name was Nicholas. Nicholas was wealthy and charismatic, but busy. He traveled the world overseeing his work. Wendy and her baby daughter were left alone nearly six months out of the year. She clearly loved her husband, but she was lonely. I could tell right away, eyes so lovely should never have been so sad. That night, at the gala, I felt as though I had succumbed to the love spell of a Jynx. It was an incredible feeling, though I admit unnerving . . . I had enjoyed the pleasures of many women in my time, but I was certainly not the love-struck type, hardly.'

"Nicholas left Wendy during that gala. He had to catch a flight overseas. It was for business. Wendy understood, after all she enjoyed a lavish lifestyle off his mighty dollar. However his leaving that night left her feeling especially lost. I watched as she handed her infant off to her father and went to the bar. Wendy needed to drink her sorrows away. I could not stand by and watch such a lovely woman suffer. So, I went to her, I bought her a drink and gave her my ear . . . as well as my heart. We became involved in a secret affair. I suppose I should have been use to the living the double life, perhaps our sneaking around should have been natural for me . . . and at first it was. At first I vowed not to invest myself deeply in this woman -- no matter how intense our affair -- Wendy had no plans to ever leave her husband. This she was upfront about. She would not split up her family, for her daughter sake. And . . . she did still love her husband despite his faults. But it was too late for me by then, I had accidentally fallen in love with her. Truly. Deeply in love. Wendy, the first and last woman who has ever gotten to me.'

"Our affair continued for nearly two years, wholly unbeknownst to her husband. She kept that secret from him and, in turn, I kept Team Rocket a secret from her. Wendy was from an upstanding family, very law-conscious, she would not have approved of my real profession, and in fact, she might have turned me in. Therefore I let her believe I was a humble gym leader. It was a respectable job she could admire.'

"But then, it so happened, Wendy one day came to my gym in tears. Misty, _they_ say that _all good things must come to and end_ . . . and you know what? The ominous '_they'_ are correct -- Wendy wept for she was pregnant. Three months along and her husband had only been back in town for two. She told me she was planning to stay with her husband; she would tell Nicholas that she was only two months along -- that she was carrying _his_ baby. She begged me to let her go -- to let her live happily ever after with her husband – to let Nicholas blindly raise _my_ child with her. She was panicking, half of her words mere gibberish. I was about to make her sit down, to calm down, to talk this _through with me_, when suddenly two of my Rocket grunts entered my gym.'

"The grunts . . . they were absolute fools! Rushing to me in some frenzy; addressing ME as THEIR BOSS; oblivious to the fact that Wendy was even in the room. The look on Wendy's face . . . it haunts me still. Horror. Realization. Betrayal. Wendy now knew who I truly was. She was familiar with my crimes as Team Rocket was infamous even back then. She cursed me -- swearing that if I told her husband about the baby she would tell the police who I really was. Then she fled, pushing through my Rockets before I could stop her.'

"Our love had started out as a lie and now had truly become one. Wendy and I were blackmailing one another. And all along, I still loved her. All along I believed that she still loved me too. I was a fool – for the first and last time.'

"Wendy came from a famous family and word of her new pregnancy spread across the media like a _Flamethrower_. I learned that she and Nicholas had decided to keep their family together -- his business would no longer separate them now that they had two children. Wendy moved with Nicolas across the globe. I knew why she fled from me -- she feared our child would become a criminal if raised by my hand. And in that respect, she was right to fear. I will not deny it. But, my darling Wendy, she was now the fool to think I would simply give up my _only_ offspring, my only flesh and blood. She was badly mistaken.'

"I had her killed. Wendy and Nicholas both. Two years after _my son_ was born they were in a _terrible car accident._ The police suspected Nicholas was drinking behind the wheel. And, as I had suspected, Wendy's children were sent to live with and be raised by her father. This was splendid to me. Wendy's father was an exceptional man -- he was intelligent, wealthy and adored his grandchildren. Wendy had to go; she would have raised my son with malice toward the Rockets. She would have poisoned him against me. I knew that her father would raise my son best, even better than I could. I was a busy man and hardly interested in diaper changes. I did not have time to teach ABC's. I knew that I could trust the old man to do right by my son, at least until he was old enough for me to claim him. To take him. Misty," Giovanni said her name very slowly, seizing every last ounce of her attention. "Wendy's father was Professor Samuel Oak."

Giovanni just stared at her now, expressionless. He sealed his lips, bowed his head, and allowed her silence . . .

Silence to process his mammoth confession.

Misty's mouth dropped open, but no words would come. Her mind was spinning like an emotional tornado –whirling and tossing his words about in her head. She replayed Giovanni's final sentence in her mind until she finally comprehend it.

_Oh My God. _

Misty faced Team Rockets boss with one question: "Does Shard know?"

"No," Giovanni was quick to answer, "no one does. You are the ONLY living soul to know this."

"But how did he get here? To you? To Team Rocket? Gary Oak, he killed himself-"

"Of course, it's natural for you to think that," Giovanni paused, he seemed to be mulling over his next words, as though unsure if he should admit something. But apparently he figured _Pandora's Box_ was already open -- Giovanni went on: "I have faked the deaths of many people, but never so well as the death of my own son. Gary's was done without flaw."

"What do you mean? Gary Oak faked his own death? You helped him-"

"No. Gary Oak _did_ intend to die. He was chronically depressed – I made certain of that. I saw too it that he _became_ depressed. You see, Misty, Shard – Gary Oak-- is _my _son, he is strong. He is no weakling, no frail character. He would never, under ordinary circumstances, quit on life. He would never give up when the going got tough. _I do not reproduce weaklings_. Therefore, I had to _make _him depressed. Gary was raised by Samuel Oak, a man of morals. Gary would never have considered joining Team Rocket on his own. And why would he? He was wealthy and a promising Pokemon researcher. I had to make him _think_ his life was worthless, that his existence was deplorable, make him desperate enough to take any new life offered to him."

"But how? Why? How could you do that to your own son?"

"Because he IS my son. MY SON. He belongs to me and with me. I had my scientists create a depressant drug. I won't dull you with the biochemistry, but understand that it is very powerful. The drug hones in on ones weaknesses and insecurities and magnifies them -- putting these weaknesses as the incessant forefront of its victims thoughts. I tested the drug for months on some of my prisoners and even on some Rocket grunts. Individuals who seemed, generally, very pleasant and strong-willed. In ten out of twelve tests each individual committed suicide within three months of exposure to the drug. The other two within four months. I began having Gary Oak trailed and observed twenty four hours a day. The drugs were given to him as he slept at night, dissolved completely in his mouth with zero aftertaste. I had my most skilled Alakazam steal into his dreams, giving him horrible nightmares and ideas of drowning himself. Even at age fifteen Gary Oak proved to be strong just like his father . . . it took five months for the drugs and dreams to wear him down. _Finally _he made his move and took a leap off the Pallet Cliffs. We had been monitoring him and acted promptly. He nearly drowned before my diver got a hold of him-."

Misty cut him off: "So there _are_ others in Team Rocket who know about Shard's identity then? These divers and the ones who stalked him and monitored him?"

"No. I had them all poisoned once my son was returned to me. I could _not risk anyone_ knowing that Shard was my son. Telling anyone would have been like signing his death warrant. My enemies as well as Glare, Remington and others like them would have killed him long ago. My son would have been an automatic heir, meaning, automatically killed. I made Gary Oak think that we found him washed upon a riverbed and then I offered him a new life – free from his ghosts of the past. Free from the constant shadow of his grandfather. A new life where, if he worked hard, he could become very successful. At the time Gary was, of course, depressed and desperate enough to accept my offer. He chose his new identity and opted to wear his mask at all times. He would risk no one recognizing Gary Oak. And so Gary became Shard the Rocket. I started him off at the bottom. He was a grunt with a new outlook on life. He was given the tasks all grunts are -- trash removal, Pokemon care and occasional petty theft. Shard needed to be seen as _one of them_ to the other Rockets. An equal. Shard needed to gain their respect and climb the ranks on his own. If he failed, then he failed. But I did not believe that he would. And he has not. My son is utterly brilliant; he has made this company a lot of money and has earned the admiration of the board with no help from me. The Rockets here revere him, he will make a powerful successor for this company."

"But Glare and the others are trying to kill him! Your own son! Since you know that Shard broke free from the brig last night you must also know that Glare tried to have him murdered by an assassin."

"Of course I knew that."

"Shard could have been killed!"

"_Bah!_" Giovanni shook his head with irritation. "My son? Killed by a common assassin? Hardly, my dear. Had Shard actually fallen he would have proven himself entirely unworthy of the work I have put into him. Yes, Misty, I knew about the assassin. And, to make certain that my son would not fall, I saw to it that he was warned before even setting foot in that brig. I also left him unfrisked and armed."

"But Glare is not going to stop until he's dead!"

"Don't you worry about Glare, or, should I ask you not to worry about Shard? Hm, I wonder if THAT might be too difficult for you?"

Misty narrowed her eyes into slits. "What are you getting at, Giovanni? Why are you telling _me_ all of this?"

He stroked his Persian, that confident grin spreading his lips. "Misty, I am going to make you an extremely generous offer, are you ready?"

Misty nodded, unsure of what else to do.

"I am willing to fake your death. With the world believing you are gone, you may stay here, with Shard, and rule Team Rocket at his side. You will be wealthy beyond comprehension and more powerful than any other woman alive. But better, you will have my son. What do you say to that?"

Misty gasped, wholly shocked by Giovanni's offer. "I. . ." Misty shook her head. "I. . . I would never. I _could never_ do that to Ash."

"Ah, but you hesitated just now. Are you quite sure? I think it would be best. Shard has apparently grown quite fond of you and you of him. I'm afraid his interest in you has caused him to grow a defiant streak. Defiance from my son is not acceptable, and I will not stand by and watch his heart be ransacked. That would destroy him, break his concentration . . . he would never be the same man again. Shard needs to be flawless – moving and thinking perfection at ALL times. If his concentration breaks again the board will not be supportive of him as my heir. I believe that having _you_ promised -- safe at his side -- will be all the push Shard requires to fulfill his destiny and lead this company."

"No! Never! I can't just let Ash think I'm DEAD! I love him!" Misty held up her left hand, blatantly showing Giovanni her engagement ring. "I made a promise to Ash. I promised to marry him, Giovanni. _Please_."

Giovanni frowned thoughtfully, his gaze darkening like a shadow. "Hm, that is a shame. Well, my dear, no one can say that I didn't try. I will apologize now then -- you understand that you will have to die. After all, I did just share some very confidential information with you. Until the appropriate time for your execution you will, hereby, be banned from Shard's company. He will be released from the brig soon and I can not risk you sharing any of this information with him. He can never know that he is my son. That knowledge would be a death sentence. Forgive me, but understand, there are only two living beings that I truly love on this cold, hard planet. One is my Pokemon, the monster you _truly_ fear. The other is my son, the young man that you _truly_ love." Giovanni stood and held her gaze a moment more.

"Love? I can't possibly _love _Shard. I hardly even know him! I'm engaged, Giovanni-"

"Misty, another word of advice from the ominous _they_: _they say it is when you are not looking for love that love finds you_. Marriyng one man when you also love another . . . trust me, my dear, it always ends badly," Giovanni huffed. "A shame your other_ attachments_ will keep you from experiencing a happy life, or for that matter, any life at all." Giovanni turned his attention from Misty as though she were a leper; he pressed a small buzzer on his desk. "Remington, please enter. Take Miss Waterflower back to her room."

In a moment Remington entered and was at Misty's side. He again handcuffed and blindfolded her.

Giovanni did not need to warn Misty to be silent around Remington. Misty would not dare breathe a word of her cursed knowledge -- armed with that information Remington would go mad, he would probably kill Shard right away. Giovanni had read her well . . . Misty would not risk any harm to Shard.

Her heart could not bear it.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0

This was an all too familiar scene for Misty: she sat on the bed in Team Rockets prison room. _Alone._

Remington had brought her back a short while ago. Misty was not sure when, perhaps a few hours? It hardly mattered anymore. Seconds thawed into minutes which dissolved within hours which melted her days into a scatter of strange memories. They all seemed to span the same life. The sun could neither rise nor set in this world. Misty began to wonder if this entire experience was naught but an extraordinary nightmare? If she concentrated hard enough, could she will herself to awaken? Would she open her eyes to find Ash sleeping next to her? Were all of these strange characters figments of her imagination? Was Shard?

Misty's breath caught in her throat . . .

The idea that Shard could not be real, that he could vanish with her conciseness . . . it stuck her deeper than any needle.

If this were a dream then Misty would find a way to cling to Shard and bring him out with her. She could NOT leave him here. Alone. She had to save him. Misty could no longer imagine her life without him in it . . . it did not matter who he really was. Gary Oak did not mean a thing to her, but Shard, he meant everything. Helping him meant everything. And if he was not real, then that meant _this feeling_ within her heart was a lie -- and it was too wonderful and too frightening and too intense a feeling to be denied.

Shard could NOT be a dream.

Misty was actually relieved when her stomach began to grumble. She was certain one did not experience psychical hunger in a dream. She bit her lower lip, numb to any pain which she was potentially causing. Giovanni had banned her from seeing Shard again. She would never get to say goodbye. . .

Misty thought about Remington, Shard's would-be killer . . . the Rocket had been silent the entire walk from Giovanni's office to Misty's room. But once inside the room he had spoken: _"Tonight," _he rasped, _"tonight is the night. The Pokemon Master just made contact. He is ready to make the swap. For real this time." _And that was it. He ripped off her blindfold, detached her cuffs and was gone.

Misty shook herself, struggling to sift through Remington's words. She heard them, but they failed to make her _feel_ anything. Misty no longer knew how to feel, she suddenly felt quite numb. Satisfyingly numb. Her brain was slowing . . . tingling . . . freezing, like fingers left ungloved in a blizzard. Misty did not even fear the inevitable anymore, in fact, she was anxious for it. For this all to END, one way or another.

Was she losing her mind? Had Giovanni found a way to crack her?

Misty knew that the Rockets were going to kill her. Giovanni himself told her so. She just prayed that Ash was not actually going to trade her for the Pokemon. But at this point that hardly mattered either. If Ash planned to meet with Team Rocket tonight then that meant Misty was going to die tonight. A short burst of heat returned to her senses . . . _Ash_ . . . Misty hoped that she would get to see him one last time. If even at a distance, she needed to see him. Misty loved Ash. She had always loved Ash and she was ready to die for _his_ greater good. She only hoped that he would understand that. And, Misty also hoped that Team Rocket was not planning to kill her in front of him. Ash could not endure that. It would destroy him on the spot. The thought of this terrified her more than any bullet. If she had to, she would beg Team Rocket. She would get down on her hands and knees and beg them. _Please don't kill me in front of him. PLEASE._

The devil had offered to buy her soul and Misty had refused, but, she wondered now if she had made the right choice? Had she accepted Giovanni's offer – to fake her death—she would have been very selfish. Living here and all the while Ash believing her dead. No, that was an unbearable thought! She could not –WOULD NOT—be able to live a lie like that. She could NEVER hurt Ash like that. But being unable to live a lie meant not living at all.

Giovanni might as well have asked her_: would you rather burn in flames or be stabbed a dozen times?_ There was no possible right choice, no pleasant outcome.

_Giovanni ._ . . his story stuck like a barbed thorn, Misty could not get it out of her head. His words haunted her . . . his tale of loving Shard's mother . . . _killing her_ . . . causing his own son morbid depression to the point of suicide. Gary Oak was _Shard. _Shard was _Gary Oak. _It seemed impossible and yet unbearably obvious at the same time. He had been before her eyes all along, helping her to the best of his ability. Misty did not know why Shard had chosen to help her -- perhaps he remembered her from childhood? He had tormented Ash something awful once, but the two boys later became friends. Maybe there was a tiny part of him that was still Gary Oak and could not hurt her? The initial reasons held no importance any longer, nor did Gary Oak himself; Shard was the one who helped her. Shard was the one who . . .

_Shard. _If that word implied a broken fragment then why did it make her feel whole?

Misty had many questions for Shard. Questions which would never leave her lips. According to Giovanni she would not see Shard again. Never. What a curiously significant word, _never. _Misty did not care for it, and, a small voice inside her insisted that she had not seen the last of Shard, despite Giovanni's words.

Shard was incredibly distraught when Misty had last seen him. He seemed to be struggling with his conscience -- unable to balance the good human and the bad killer. Now Misty understood why. Shard never chose this life, it had been chosen for him by his father -- a criminal architect. A man who would twist anything – even his own son—to see his will served. Giovanni made her sick. When Shard had left Misty his psyche was berating him, his morals striking him down. He did not at all sound the confident Shard that she had come to know. Misty thought about his instructions again, urging her to become_ selfish. _Why had he had told_ her_ to let _him_ be the _selfless _one? This word puzzle had been on her mind since. Misty wanted to follow his words exactly, but she did not know how. Misty did not know what Shard had meant but he seemed to imply that she may have a chance of survival – but only if she _became selfish_. And the only way she would be able to try and help him – to convince him to LEAVE this place – was if she could stay alive! It was all so confusing! Mentally exhausting!

Misty cussed loudly, wishing that more than these empty walls had heard her. Frustrated and not knowing what else to do, Misty went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She could not stand to sit idly on that bed another moment! If these were her final hours then she wanted to feel water around her one more time. She shred her clothing and selected a bathrobe from the pile of attire Shard had provided for her. She would slip into that robe after her shower, it looked quite comfortable and Misty was determined to spend her final hours in as much comfort as possible.

Stepping within that shower was like stepping within a waterfall of solace for Misty. The warm vapors embraced every centimeter of skin. Misty cranked up the heat, hoping that she could drain Giovanni's hot water bill. She released a weary sigh and closed her eyes. The droplets pulsated against her face like tiny liquid fingers, massaging every pore. The water felt incredible, she loved how it cascaded down her bare back. . .

Her mind also began to cascade . . . Misty recalled a morning, not long ago, when Ash had joined her for her morning shower. Misty smiled at the memory, neither one of them did much scrubbing; she doubted she'd even had the chance to pick up her shampoo. Ash had given her a slow back massage; his lips nibbled her ears; he whispered her name -- telling Misty how much he had been yearning for her. Misty could almost feel Ash's hot lips against her throat, she could almost feel his hands as they strayed down, beyond her shoulders . . . Misty turned around to face Ash, to kiss him. . .

But Ash was not staring back at her. It was Shard. The Rockets handsome face was before her. It was Shard, not Ash, who held her naked body. It was Shard, not Ash, who breathed hotly in her ear . . .

Misty gasped, forcing her eyes open and her imagination _shut_. She blushed furiously – half of her face glowing red hot from shame; the other half burned with another emotion . . . an emotion that Misty dared not name. _Damn! _Misty swore inwardly. _This is Giovanni's fault. I just know it is. He put these ideas in my head! _She felt somewhat better blaming her _almost-_erotic fantasy on him . . . though, a part of her wondered if it had anything to do with Giovanni at all. _Damn! _She berated herself, scratching her knuckles against the shower wall. _I suppose there's no use in guilting myself, I'll be dead before tomorrow. If my imagination wants to stray, why should I deny myself? This time tomorrow I won't have an imagination anymore. I won't even be here . . . unless Shard can find a way- _

Misty's thoughts were interrupted, when, abruptly, she heard the electronic door beeping open. It was an unmistakable sound.

Misty choked back a cry of alarm -- her heart leapt in her chest. What if it were Remington or Glare? What if it was time to go? Misty jumped from the shower and struggled into her robe. Her hair was sopping wet and water drizzled down her face. Whoever the culprit was, he or she had not knocked on the bathroom door or –thankfully -- barged in. That meant that one of those horrid Rockets was waiting for her on the other side of the door.

Misty braced herself, her fingers gripping the door handle. She held her breath and exited the bathroom. Her eyes were on guard. . .

There, sitting on her bed, was . . .

"Shard?" Misty's bare feet nearly slipped as she rushed toward him.

Shard looked up at her, his masked face dejected. He did not stand when she approached him. "What's going on, Shard?"

He seemed to peer right through her, his posture incredibly tense. "My brig sentence is over, and, apparently I've been banned from seeing you."

Misty nodded. "I know, so how are you here?"

"I had a talk with my boss, though he did most of the talking. Ultimately I was instructed _not_ be alone with you. It was the boards' decision, not his."

Misty doubted the board had anything to do with it, but she kept that thought to herself. "But you came anyway?"

"Of course I did," his voice softened for just a moment. "My boss trusted me to obey. He was not going to lock me up again."

"Won't you get in trouble for this?"

Shard stood now and in one swift motion he took her hand in his. "You're worth it." He said, gently squeezing her fingers.

Misty stared at her hand resting in his. Her hand looked so tiny, almost like a child's within is large strong one. Misty felt her cheeks burn, but did not pull away. Instead she moved closer to him. Misty allowed her eyes to thoroughly search his masked face. She wanted to remember every detail of him . . . _god, _he was striking. She would carry his image to her grave. "Shard," her voice was barely audible, "the trade is happening tonight."

"I know. Don't worry, Misty. Everything is going to be okay."

"How can you say that? How can you be so sure?"

"I'll be there with you, Misty. I'm not going to let anyone else harm you."

"But your boss . . . he took me into his office earlier . . . he. . ." she hesitated, unsure that it was wise to tell Shard all that she learned. The knowledge that Giovanni had poured into her mind was_ dangerous_, and, potentially very damaging. Shard had been extremely upset when last Misty had seen him, _what if_ this new knowledge – that Giovanni was his father -- sent him over the edge? Misty winced, _selfishly _she needed his brilliant mind operating at top condition in order to save her. And if his mind crumpled she would not be able to save him either . . .

Shard_ had_ told Misty that she needed to be selfish to get out of here . . . if they both survived this night Misty would find a way to tell him later. But now was not the time.

But . . . there _was_ one secret that Misty had discovered without Giovanni's help . . .

Misty glued her sight upon Shard, her expression firm. "Shard, take your mask off, please."

He tilted his head. "Why?"

"Please, just do it." She needed to see Gary Oak for herself. It was suddenly very important to Misty, she needed to be certain -- beyond Giovanni's story, beyond her own speculations – she needed to know for sure.

Shard nodded. Without further question he peeled the adhesive mask from his face. The fabric fell from Shard's eyes and his face was revealed, naked and beautiful before her. It was unmistakable now.

Those eyes . . . they were stunning, like twin pools reflecting trust and affection upon her. Misty longed to loose herself in his eyes, to submerge into their depths -- drowning in Shard's eyes would be a wonderful way to go. She _did _know this face. He was so handsome -- as he always had been. But he was older now, Misty had not seen him for more than ten years. In his youth Shard's features had been undeniably charming; he had always been popular with the ladies, Misty recalled. Now he was a man . . . as she was now a woman.

Misty suddenly regretted never getting to know Gary Oak back then. He was obviously in great need of a friend, but in those days she frankly could not stand Gary Oak . . .

It was Shard she could not stand to be away from now.

"Gary Oak." The words burst from her mouth, striking Shard like an invisible rocket. Shard flinched, blue eyes blinking, his face going ridged.

"Why . . . did you call me that?" his voice spewed agony, as though that rocket had struck his heart. His eyes darted toward the door.

Misty reached up, gripping his shoulders, using all of her strength to hold him in place. She would not allow Shard to flee. "I figured it out for myself and then your boss confirmed it."

Shard went immediately pale -- the color drained from his face as though he were secretly bleeding to death. He tried to step away from her but Misty held on with startling strength. Shard must have realized that she would be a trial to shake free; he stilled, remaining in place. "I don't understand why my boss would share that information with you," Shard's voice was pained. She could not stand to see him suffer. Shard shook his head, continuing: "It is _Code One classified_ – he and I are they only ones who – who-" Shard closed those gorgeous blue orbs, his face laced with confusion. "No matter, it doesn't matter. I trust you will not repeat that information?"

"Of course not. But, Shard, it DOES matter. We all thought you were dead!"

"Gary Oak _is_ dead," he snapped. "He died more than ten years ago, okay? Do _not_ use that name again. It is as forbidden to speak as our boss's name."

Misty's brow furrowed, she gripped Shard's shoulders even tighter and shook him. "Giovanni? Don't tell me I can't say his name! That bastard! Giovanni, Giovanni, GIOVANNI!"

Shard peeled her hands from his shoulders now, wincing. He pressed a finger to her lips. "That is a dangerous name. I understand that you hate him, but he did help me once, saved my life . . . or . . . so I thought. . ." Shard hesitated, his sight fluttering downward.

"Go on," Misty wanted to hear what he was thinking. She NEEDED him to finish his sentence. "Shard, _please_."

He faced her. "If you thought I was dead then you also know how I died. I killed myself. I was fifteen years old. I was weak then, Misty," Shard's breath hitched in his throat, his eyes blinking back a surge of emotion. Misty rubbed his shoulders, supporting him to go on. "I wanted to die. I wanted to die so badly," his voice went very thin now. Elite Rocket Shard was wholly shattering before her –his icy façade was melting again, and this time, Misty WOULD catch every drop as it slipped away. Her hands slid from his shoulders and down his arms until she found his fingers and she intertwined them with her own. Shard seemed to gain strength from her touch and his expression steadied, as did his voice. Once an iceberg melts it can never be an iceberg again; parts may freeze, but it will never take the same form, it will never be whole.

"Misty, when I jumped off that cliff-side I had every intention of dying. I hope you _never_ know what it feels like to want to die, to yearn for it. To yearn for an _end_ so deeply that you would do something like I did. I remember it perfectly, I just kissed my _Pokeballs _goodbye and I jumped. No second thoughts. I remember falling, feeling no fear, just falling. And then the cold. I hit the water, it was freezing but I didn't fight it, I just let it take me. It pulled me under. I breathed it in. I could feel water inside my lungs, suffocating me and then my world went black. When I woke up I knew that something had gone wrong, I wasn't dead. Much to my extreme disappointment. I was in a room with one other person. The Boss. He offered me freedom from my old life. The life where I was nothing but a failure. The life where I would never be the man my parents had hoped I would be, never be the scientist my grandfather wanted me to be. Team Rocket sounded like something I could disappear inside. Be reborn. A second chance. I could dump out all of my anger, my pain, and no one would judge me for it. The Boss presented my options: either join the company or he would kill me then and there, he held a gun to prove it. I don't know what changed in me at that moment -- why a boy so anxious for death was now turning it away? But I did turn it away. I accepted The Boss's offer. I did not know then that I was selling my soul."

When had she started crying? Misty did not know. But as Shard finished his story Misty's face was wet with tears. She felt the tears, hot with sorrow, rolling down her face like liquid embers. Her breathing had become a series of choked sobs, her chest aching from the short gasps.

Shard breathed quietly in contrast. He seemed relieved to have finally unloaded this burdensome secret. In this fleeting instant he could be himself again. Be the innocent boy he once was so long ago.

Misty could not share in his relief, the tears would not leave her, no matter how hard she fought them back. Shard took her face in his hands. "Misty, don't cry," his voice was as tender as his touch. And this tenderness caused her to weep with more fervor. She could not stop, she felt possessed by raw grief. Misty cried because she knew the truth – the real truth -- about Shard, but could not tell him. She cried because her heart ached for him -- because a part of her ached _to be with him_ -- but Misty knew that could never be. She cried because she loved Ash. She cried because she should love him so much that, feelings like this should never have even surfaced. She cried because she knew – one way or another – she would soon never see Shard again. Misty cried because she had _wanted to help_ Shard and now -- by keeping the truth from him -- she was no better than Giovanni himself. And then she cried harder.

"Misty," Shard held her gaze. "I need you." Misty shivered at his sudden words, unsure of their meaning . . . unsure whether or not she had heard him correctly, but desperately hoping she had. "What I mean is: I need you to show me how to be _good_ again. To be my self again. A good man. I need your help, Misty. I am a better person than this, I know I am. I know I could be, but not without you." Shard's fingers grazed her lips. "I need you to give me a reason to leave this place – this life. Just say the word and I'll leave Team Rocket. With you. I'll get us out of here. You make me FEEL. I feel alive again for the first time in years. If we leave we'll have to become dead to the world, Team Rocket will never stop searching for me. And I won't go to the police -- they'll put me on death row. But I'm on death row if I stay here anyway. But I could keep us safe . . ." his eyes were hopeful, they shone with innocent dreams. It was a pure sort of hope; the sort born from a soul who had not dared to hope in a long, long time.

Misty could hardly believe what Shard had just said to her . . . he wanted to run away with her? He wanted her to leave with him? Her chest heaved. Her heart was screaming, but she deafened herself to its call. Misty had to because a part of her – a very sincere part of her -- wanted to say _yes_. But Misty did not say _yes_. She could not. There was no way that she could up and leave Ash for Shard_— the newly-not-dead Gary Oak! _She didn't even KNOW Shard . . . yet, she wondered if she now knew more about him than he did about himself? Misty shook her head, meeting Shard's radiant eyes, knowing that she would have to extinguish that beautiful hope.

"Shard. . . _I can't_ do that to Ash."

Shard's eyes went dim. He nodded, looking momentarily embarrassed, but not at all surprised by her answer. "Of course," he smiled at her, a light blush tinting his cheeks. "I don't know what came over me, I'm sorry. I have a permanent target on my back, it wouldn't be safe for you anyway. And you, Misty, you have everything to live for. You're engaged." Shard huffed, his brow creasing as his calculating mind worked at Rapidash-speeds. "I _will_ help you escape. I've made my bed and I will lay in it. It was wrong of me to ask that you lay beside me, or to even think that you would want to."

"Shard," Misty felt tears in her eyes again -- he was misunderstanding! No, she would not leave Ash. And, no, she would not run away with him, but it did not mean that. . . "Shard I wish that I could disappear with you. A part of me is so tempted . . . _but it's wrong_. Wrong, but . . . it also feels. . . right." Her words made little sense even to her, but Shard did not ask her to elaborate.

"Misty?"

"Yes?"

"I have to go now."

Misty had been hoping he would say something else, ask her again to flee with him . . . she was not sure she had the strength to say _no_ to him twice. But Shard did not ask her again, he would not.

"Remington will be coming for you in a few hours. But I'll be with him when he does, don't worry, Misty."

"H-How? You were banned from seeing me?" her words were slurred by sobs.

"Leave that up to me. I WILL be there with you. I'll make certain you get out alive."

"Thank you, Shard." Misty didn't know how he could possibly make that promise, but she believed him. She had to.

"Misty?"

"Yes, Shard?"

"I don't think that I will see you again after tonight."

". . . I know," her voice broke, and a new rush of tears was released.

"Dry your tears, Misty."

"I can't."

"No?" his voice was light and endearing, causing her heart to beat faster. "Well, fortunately I'm here to dry them for you." He cupped her face in his hands again, his thumbs gently rubbing her skin, smoothing away her sorrow.

"But what-what happens where you're not here?"

Shard's hands fell from her face to her shoulders, his fingers gripping her as though she were the most precious being in the entire world. Shard had the hands of a thief, but when he held her, Misty felt more sacred than any rare gem. He clutched her body and Misty trembled, she could feel his devotion, his passion, his tender longing for her through his touch. Shard adored her and feared her . . . she was _his_ forbidden treasure. And in this moment Misty realized that Shard_ would_ protect her. Fight for her . . . even . . . die for her.

Misty looked at Shard now . . . and she realized something else . . .

_He_ was _her_ forbidden treasure as well.

A treasure she could desire but never possess. A treasure she could admire . . . but never be allowed to love.

Misty wove her hands around his neck. Shard's fingers were unwavering upon her shoulders, just like his determination to save her. His eyes were heated and she met them, unblinking and unafraid of what he might see. Misty freely allowed Shard access to her eyes -- to stare into the depths of her soul. In this moment their gazes wholly fused -- sapphires and emeralds set ablaze, melting into one perfect instant . . .

Nothing else in the world existed . . .

Except. . .

Shard and Misty.

And now something happened, something that neither one of them had expected.

Shard found Misty's lips. Or perhaps she found his? Only the gods would ever truly know. Shard and Misty had been drawn together – _pushed_, as though with a divine magnetic thrust. And what they found was pure and blissful – the experience of being willingly swept away in a heavenly tide. Two hearts thundering and yet content. Second thoughts did not exist in this moment and _Misty let go_ . . . throwing herself into this moment, into him. She pressed her body against Shard, sinking into his strong arms and simply savored every sensation. She savored being alive. She savored what it felt like to _NEED. To BE needed._

Misty and Shard needed each other.

Their lips seemed to melt together, moving and caressing in perfect sync. Shard tilted her head back, his mouth exploring hers more deeply. Misty relaxed, shivering, fully surrendering to his search. His lips stroked hers with such hunger, such passion . . . passion she'd not known even existed in this mortal world. _How?_ Misty wondered, _how had she gone her entire life without him?_

Her fingers frisked through Shard's spikes of hair, gripping handfuls, desperate to touch every centimeter of him. To feel alive_ with him_. Shard's kissing now slowed but the passion did not . . . his lips moved with more pace, more intimacy . . .

Shard was kissing her sorrows away. Shard was kissing her tears into the past. Their lips silently confessing the unspoken words buried in their hearts. Words were not necessary; words could never translate the whispers inside them. This moment belonged to lips upon lips, breath dissolving into breath, body against body.

It was a final kiss.

A first and a last kiss in one moment.

Shard and Misty clung to one another like lifelines, neither daring to stop for breath. Lifelines . . . to each other that is what they had become. Misty trying to save Shard from himself just as he was trying to save her life.

Misty felt his fingers upon her back, her robe was soaked from her wet hair and must have felt cold, but Shard caressed her still. Misty believed he would have held her had she been covered in mud, in blood, _in anything_.

Shard's skin against hers, _oh,_ how Misty relished it! His breath in her mouth sent tremors down her spine! Shard grazed her waist then gripped her robe in a trembling fist. Misty's hands had found his chest, she felt his smooth muscles through his shirt. She felt his heart hammering against her palm. She clutched his shirt with her nails, wishing she could somehow dig inside him and claim his heart forever.

_Forever. . . _

She was wearing Ash's ring. A ring that promised Ash _forever._

"No, stop!" Misty gasped. She shoved Shard backward, peeling his hands from her waist. "_Ash," _was the only word she could muster -- her only explanation.

Shard was breathing hard, practically panting. He pressed a hand to his mouth and sighed into it. He was silent, just staring at her; his eyes suddenly very hallow -- the passion vaporizing before her.

"You have to be selfish to be happy, Misty." There was no bite in his tone. Shard spoke calmly and without regret.

Then, he turned and left.

Misty was alone again. She stood, a cold puddle forming below her feet from her wet hair. Each beat of her heart brought agony. Misty shut her eyes -- she could still feel the heat of Shard's lips upon her mouth.

The tears Misty thought had run dry now came rushing back.

0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0

Authors Note: Wow, that was a long one. Jeepers! Remind anyone of those final 'WYB' updates, haha? I have been working on this chapter ALL week. I don't know when I've worked so hard on a chapter before. I have not allowed myself to read any fan fiction until this chapter was done. I am also FOUR papers behind in my college classes now! Ah, I don't want to fail school because of Misty and Shard. AH! There are only two chapters left of this story, but I have no idea when I'll be able to finish. Where the heck did my Muse go? I think she's having a snack, therefore, I'll need some reviews. If you are reading this and you want more: TELL ME. Your words honestly make me write, they inspire me. Every time I get a review I (honestly) will start to draft ideas and more story. Every time. Thanks to everyone who does review. I would have given up after chapter one had it not been for you all. Well, my Muse is still nowhere in sight, probably off wandering . . . and therefore, for now, my writing ends. Maia


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Brock was in the backseat with his face pressed against the window. One would think that they were already driving to Misty's funeral based on the volume of his weeping. Ash clenched the steering wheel as though he were wringing a Rocket's throat. Forcing a deep breath Ash stared at his best friend through the rearview mirror. Brock had arrived on a flight from Pewter City a few hours ago. He had come to offer Ash moral support, but, at the moment, his mournful sobbing only caused Ash moral murder. Professor Elm was riding shotgun. The kindly scientist reached a hand into the backseat and touched Brock's trembling shoulder.

"There, there, Brock. Please don't cry in such a way. Misty isn't gone, my good man. Remember, I'm here now. I'm here to assure that nothing will happen to her."

Brock sniffled loudly, blowing his nose in an already soiled hankie. "I know. . . I know," Brock muttered, tears streaking his dark cheeks.

Professor Elm adjusted his glasses nervously. "I have a good feeling about this plan -- granted it is not nearly as brilliant as the one Professor Oak conceived to stop that vile Pokemon to begin with, what with the irreproducible, amazing ghost-type property potion-- but, The Dragon Master and I conjured this plan up, and I dare say it is _fool proof. _Far better than your plan A. It's going to work, heck, we owe it to Professor Oak to MAKE it work. We have a chance to use The Rocket's killer-weapon again them. A good chance!"

Brock nodded. "I hope so, I just can't stand the thought of Misty is harms way."

Dread spread through Ash like a terrible cancer, his throat suddenly felt thick with tumors and he couldn't breathe right let alone contribute to the conversation. Next his chest tightened as though toxic growths were mushrooming about his lungs and heart. He was panicking, he needed to calm down -- he couldn't possibly let Brock and the Professor know how terrified he was. Ash sucked in a feeble breath, steadying his thoughts and earning stares of concern from his two counterparts.

"I'm fine." Ash said, focusing his eyes where they belonged -- on the road. Neither Brock nor the Professor questioned him.

It was now midday and Ash had previously arranged to meet with the Rockets at a high ravine beyond the Saffron City Bridge at sundown. That meant he now had less than eight hours to create a miracle. But according to Professor Elm: _science had a way of helping miracles along_.

"Look, we're almost there." Brock piped up, pointing to an upcoming road sign. "Maximum Security Prison, 4 kilometers," he read each word carefully.

Professor Elm adjusted his glasses again, each time he did it Ash felt another nervous tumor swell within his windpipe. "You have all your I.D. requirements right, Ash?"

Ash nodded and kept driving. Professor Elm had already asked him that question fourteen times, this made fifteen and the answer was still _yes_. In a few moments more than a dozen armored security guards would lead Ash down into the lowest level of Kanto's most infamous prison – he would be marched straight into hell. The prisons upper levels caged the worlds most foul murderers and rapists. The middle levels confined the mass murders, public enemies and famous criminal master minds. But it was the bottom level which held the most dangerous fiend of them all . . .

Ash exhaled as another sign snagged his view:

_**WARNING: MAXIMUM SECURITY PRISON. **_

_**1 kilometer. **_

_**Government officials ONLY.**_

Team Rocket's monster had not stepped from its _Master Ball_ since Lance had sealed it away more than six years ago. Now Ash was about to go through a rigorous series of DNA tests, scans and password examinations to prove than he was indeed the Pokemon Master -- the only living being worthy and capable of releasing the creature. The creatures _Master Ball_ would open for no one but him.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"Will you hurry up in there!"

"Seriously, you're not dressing for a wedding."

Cruel snickering invaded Misty's ears but she only shook her head. Glare and Remington's taunting had become a blunt blade -- overused and no longer sharp enough to break skin.

"Um, yeah, you'll _never_ be dressing for a wedding, haha!"

"I'm coming already." Misty seethed, using a bolder tone than usual to address them. She knew full well that the Rocket's would not harm her until after the swap had taken place. Misty was currently in the bathroom of her prison chamber and she was rushing to struggle into the pair of black boots, black spandex and matching black hooded sweatshirt that Glare had ordered her to change into. Misty did not even look at her self in the mirror when she was finished changing. She already knew that she was dressing for her own funeral -- black upon black upon black -- she didn't need to see it.

Misty stepped out of the bathroom and back into the main area of the chamber. A masked quartette – Glare, Remington, N.K. _and _Shard—stood waiting for her. Shard hung back in a corner by the door. Misty knew that he was watching her through his mask and a sultry blush rushed down her arms. Misty fought to suppress a tremor from following in its wake. She could still taste Shard's lips upon hers . . . like a summer rain after a long drought did Shard's passion flow with vital heat and need. Even now Misty's mouth craved to experience Shard's again. Her body ached for his strong arms around her -- protecting her from all the horrors in this world. At once Misty realized that the blush had reached her cheeks and she turned away from him, choosing the sight of the floor instead. She was quick to silence her inner yearnings, berating herself for such unbelievable inappropriateness. Misty reasoned that she was feeling desperately needy given her present doom-filled circumstances and _that_ was the ONLY reason she could not stop thinking about Shard. After all, the kiss they shared earlier was going to be her last moment of intimacy with a fellow human being, possibly forever. There was nothing else to that moment than that . . . Ash was the _only_ man for her . . . she could never having feelings for anyone but him, not ever!

Misty scoffed inwardly, already catching her thoughts in a pitiful lie. She was longing for Shard because he had gotten to her. A part of Misty feared that --should she somehow survive this day -- she would continue to long for him tomorrow and the next day and then for a forbidden eternity after that.

Like a raging Rhyhorn Misty rammed her current line of thought into the farthest abyss of her mind. She needed to concentrate on what truly mattered right now and that was _not _her illicit desires for a murdering Rocket. Collecting her wits Misty faced Shard again and she wondered how in the world he had convinced Giovanni to grant him permission to be near her? Perhaps Giovanni wagered she would not betray his confidence so long as the other Rockets were in earshot? If so, then Giovanni was correct. Misty would not risk putting Shard in harms way. Not ever. And if she told Shard the truth, that he was Giovanni's son, he would be assassinated by the others straightaway.

"Well, you look ready," Remington commented, cocking a wicked grin. Misty was glad the older Rocket's vindictive stare was concealed behind his mask.

"Almost," Glare interjected. "_This_ will be the finishing touch." The blond Rocket held up a black blindfold and proceeded to secure it snuggly around Misty's head, blinding her. Misty wondered if this dark fabric would be the last sight her eyes ever beheld? Misty hadn't time to contemplate the frightful notion for gruff hands were now on her shoulders – they were certainly Remington's. He charged her forward and they began walking. Apparently they were in a rush because her pace never seemed to satisfy him, Remington continually shoved Misty onward, she was barely able to avoid stumbling.

"Am I going to see Ash?" Misty dared her question, forcing her voice to remain steady. She was answered by a chorus of sardonic laughter -- Glare and Remington sounded like two cackling Fearow's trying to out-squawk the other.

"Haha, um, I doubt it, toots," came Glare finally. "Just shut up and walk, k?" Misty did, but only because she couldn't stand anymore of their ear-grating laughter.

After what seemed like several minutes of walking and several dizzying elevators, the Rocket's stopped. Humid air now sighed across Misty's face and her heartbeat quickened – _finally,_ she was outside and breathing fresh air again! The weather was warm and the air sticky but Misty relished it like the first day of Spring. She was outside – for the first time in . . . days? Beneath the blindfold Misty shut her eyes and inhaled the familiar aroma of _Yellow_ _Apricorn_ blossoms. There was most certainly a garden nearby and Misty wished more than anything that she could see it or, at the very least, hold a blossom in her hands just once more. But even her simple wish was interrupted by a sound in the distance. This sound belonged to footsteps and they became rapidly closer by the second. Misty knew who these footsteps belonged to even before he spoke.

"Good evening," greeted Giovanni, his voice was smoother than the pouring of a sweet liquor. Misty would recognize the demons voice anywhere. "We'll take two cars. Glare will drive Shard and myself and N.K. will drive Miss Waterflower and Remington. Remington will ride in the backseat with Miss Waterflower to maintain order."

"Excuse me, Sir?" Shard interjected quickly -- Misty knew it was Shard for only his voice caused her heartbeat to thunder. It was thundering now.

"Yes, Shard?"

"Requesting permission to trade tasks with Remington."

Glare snorted at once. "What? You have GOT to be kidding. The Boss just gave an order."

Silence smothered the area like a toxic fog and Misty instinctively held her breath. Finally, Giovanni exhaled: "_Fine_. N.K. will drive Shard and Miss Waterflower. Keep your car close behind ours. Let's go."

Misty stifled a gasp – had Giovanni just AGREED to let Shard ride with her? Her doubts were immediately eased as a familiar, comforting grip found her shoulders. Misty relaxed as Shard eased her forward and to the left. A series of footsteps moved away from them and Misty could hear Glare quietly scoffing her boss's decision. Giovanni was assuring Glare that there was no harm in Shard riding in the other car.

The sound of an opening car door startled Misty from behind. One of Shard's hands slid from her shoulder and stopped at the small of her back . . . his fingers were like _Sparklers_ leaving a heated trail down her spine. Misty failed to suppress a tremble and that failure only caused her to tremble harder. There was no way that Shard did not feel her carnal reaction to his touch. However, Shard – ever the gentleman- said nothing and carefully assisted Misty downward and into the car's seat. The automobile reeked of new leather and Misty wrinkled her nose, it reminded her of the vehicle which had brought her to this dreadful Rocket base in the first place.

Misty leaned back, reluctantly trying to settle in for the ride. As she did she felt something soft against her cheek . . . it was Shard's mouth . . . his lips grazed her face and then seemed to settle against her ear. Misty trembled yet again, however involuntarily, and she gave up trying to deny the innate shivers his touch granted her. Shard's face was freshly shaven and smoother than porcelain . . . his touch tormented her -- even now blindfolded and being escorted to the executioners block – Misty wanted to be closer to him.

_"Misty,"_ Shard's breath teased her earlobe, his voice was barely audible and Misty strained to focus on his words. He was clearly trying to relay a secret and to do so before N.K. was in earshot. "When my grandfather created that ghost-type property potion he didn't intend to give it to Lance's Dragonite. He had no intention of using it to save the world. Gramps had created it because he . . . wanted to find me. He planned to use it on himself. If he could become _part_ly dead then he would be able to communicate _with _the dead – even if only for a little while. Then he would finally learn what happened to me. If I was truly gone or if I was . . . someplace else. It was just a coincidence that it turned out to be the perfect potion to defeat the monster Pokemon. It was brilliant, no scientist has been able to reproduce his studies and create it."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I loved my grandfather. Because I broke his heart and, even though doing so ended up saving the world, it was my fault he died. I won't lose you too."

"Even if you can save me somehow, I won't be off living some version of happily ever after. I'll be worried about you, Shard. We both know you'll die-!"

"I was already dead until I met you. You made me face myself. Forgive myself. Accept myself. And . . . to let go. No matter what happens, this ends tonight."

Misty's whisper failed her: "What are you talking about? Dammit, Shard, you're the one who needs saving -- real saving! Not the metaphorical kind! _I_ need to save _YOU_!"

"You already have."

"Shard-?" Misty disengaged her question as the drivers door clicked open. N.K. was now plopping down into the driver's seat. His weight caused the vehicle to shift. Misty knew better than to continue this conversation now, although she also realized that there would most likely never be another opportunity to complete it. Regretfully, Misty sealed her lips as the engine hummed to life and the automobile began moving.

Misty had forgotten that she was trembling until she felt Shard's strong hand upon hers, stilling her tremors. Beside her Shard sighed and laced his fingers with hers between them on the backseat. He applied a gentle, soothing pressure . . . his fingers caressed her immediate worries away and promised her that somehow, someway he _was _going to protect her. Misty returned his comforting grasp, squeezing his fingers. She wished that her touch could make him feel as secure as his made hers feel. The touch of his hand far surpassed that of any _Apricorn _blossom. Misty would gladly surrender the feel of all other mortal comforts forever if doing so would keep Shard's hand upon her own.

If N.K. could see them holding hands in the rearview mirror he didn't say anything, in fact the remainder of the ride was virtually silent. As they drove onward Misty clung to Shard's hand more tightly. His hand became the rope suspending her above a river of flames. Misty might possibly die very soon, and, if that were so then what N.K. possibly could or couldn't see in the rearview mirror no longer held any concern. Gathering her nerve Misty blindly reached her other hand toward Shard and enfolded his between her own.

_"Shard," _Misty's voice was so quiet she was not even sure she had spoken at all, but she continued anyway: _"make me remember this."_

Had he heard her? Misty didn't know . . . she couldn't believe what she had just said! Her heart pummeled against in her chest like a hammer – Misty feared it would pound right through her ribs! She held her breath, her senses numbing to all but the feeling of Shard's pulse as it thudded against her palm through his skin. His heart was answering the beat of her own as well as her question . . .

But Misty wasn't satisfied simply with his quickened pulse. She leaned into Shard, resting her head against his shoulder. Shard stiffened at first, he was unsure of what he should do given the present situation. But then he exhaled, venting his hesitations through his lips and Misty felt them surrender, pressing gently into her hair. Shard offered Misty a single tender kiss upon her head. . . the lips of a frozen man disappeared within her piles of flame. He was not afraid of getting burned he just wanted . . . to melt. As Shard's lips retreated, un-singed from Misty's hair, his fingers continued to stroke her own. Misty turned her face into his chest and breathed against the firm body which lay beneath the Team Rocket logo. Shard smelled of fabric softener and gun powder. Misty wished that Shard's Rocket uniform could evaporate – she wanted to press her face against his bare chest and inhale his raw scent, breathe him into her very being where he would be safe forever.

_If only things could be different . . ._ Misty's thoughts wept, _I would have run away with you, Shard, if only I didn't love Ash so much. And now there is a chance I'll be taken away from Ash no matter what . . . but, Shard, I am so very sorry for what happened between us earlier. I wish I could go back, I never would have pushed you away. . . _Misty wished that she could voice her thoughts, but of course she could not. N.K. was apparently willing to turn a blind-eye to their physical contact but Misty doubted he would be so courteous if she started confessing her feelings out loud. She could care less about what N.K. thought of her, but his opinion of Shard needed not to turn any more sour.

Despite the cool words exchanged between Misty and Shard earlier -- despite their forbidden kiss and her refusal of his affections -- in this moment Misty and Shard understood one another and they accepted the wicked irony of their lives. Neither needed to apologize with words, their remorse was evident through temperate fingers upon fingers.

Without warning the automobile began to decelerate. Misty had no idea how long they had been driving or where they were, but, apparently, this was not just a red light for N.K. shut off the engine. Misty heard N.K. open his door and get out. The cars weight shifted again. Securing this fleeting private moment, Shard leaned into Misty's ear again and spoke, only this time his tone held urgency: "Remember what I told you before? About being selfish?"

"Yes. I remember . . ."

"Good." With that Shard pulled his hands from hers -- dowsing her flames with ice water. For the first time Misty was grateful for the blindfold tied around her eyes – it was excellent at concealing moisture.

With extreme care Shard pulled Misty to her to her feet and outside of the car. Footsteps swarmed upon them immediately and were accompanied by whispers. A chilly burst of air shook Misty and she distinctly heard the sounds of water gushing from some point below them.

"Keep Miss Waterflower quiet," ordered Giovanni's menacing voice. Shard sounded nothing like his terrible father and, for that, Misty was thankful.

"Sir," came Remington. "Ketchum is on time and in the designated area over the ridge."

"Is he alone?"

"No, Sir, he has another man with him. Looks like Brock Stone. Should I take him out?"

"No need, he's harmless. Probably offering some pathetic _moral support. _Have they just one vehicle?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good, good. Let's commence, I have other matters to attend to before midnight. Glare and N.K., come with me. Shard and Remington, stay with Miss Waterflower until you are signaled."

"Yes, Sir," blended Shard and Remington's obedient voices.

As Giovanni, Glare and N.K.'s footsteps vanished, Misty felt Shard's hands in her hair untying her blindfold.

"What are you doing?" snapped Remington. "Did the Boss okay that? I think he wants her blind until the end."

Shard ignored him and Misty's sight was abruptly forced-fed the outside world again – her retinas felt skewered by a neon rod and she winced against the impending light. Like an old fashion camera lens her eyes slowly began to focus and adjust . . . the first thing they searched for was Shard's handsome masked face . . .

_There. . ._

Shard's image was like a splash of cool water upon sunburned skin . . . Misty was immediately relieved. Shard offered her a very small smile and then turned his attention to their surroundings. Misty's sight followed, scanning this new environment. The first thing she noticed was the imminent sunset. The sky had become a backdrop of rusted metal. The clouds seemed like fleshy pouches of blood dangling by hooks of sunlight. Even the peaked mountains in the distance looked like broken piles of bone.

Team Rocket had pulled their two automobiles along the edge of a steep ravine, Misty dared a peek below and her gut reeled with nausea. A river raged with a ravenous urge -- as though it hungered for some poor soul to dare to cross its waters so that it might suck them down below its waves. The current crashed against serrated rocks causing a terrible clash like the butting of two Scizor heads. Misty gauged the river to be at least a nineteen meter drop. She made a mental note to steer clear of the edge, if she lost her footing, even for a moment, she would surely fall to her doom. As grizzly a thought as that _was_ Misty imagined that a bullet in her head would be less painful then having her body shred by rocks and water. Misty stepped away from the cliffside and forced a deep breath . . . it had been so long since she had been outside that her lungs were famished for fresh air and her senses on stimulation over-load.

There was a thick bushel of shrubbery concealing the Rocket automobiles as well as Misty's sight as to where Giovanni and the others had ventured off to. Misty knew that, wherever they went, Ash was there too . . .

Remington crept toward the shrubbery, his own curiosity tempting him. The older Rocket was peering intently toward something. Shard followed him and signaled Misty to join them.

"Put her ass in the car, Shard," Remington groaned, struggling to keep his voice low. Misty had to bite her tongue to keep from snapping at him.

Fortunately, Shard retorted for her: "I'll throw your ass over that cliff, Remi."

"Go to hell."

"Already there."

"Whatever. But I'm watching her."

"And I'm watching you."

Misty decided it best to remain silent. The men's verbal scuffle was no place for her. Instead she knelt in the bushes at Shard's side. As her knees sunk into the soft dirt her forearm brushed against Shard's . . . another reflexive quiver seized Misty's core and she immediately scolded herself for_ still _taking pleasure in his contact -- especially at such a time as THIS! She was going to be murdered soon! Ash, her fiancé, was nearby and risking the fate of world to save HER. Shame now grabbed her core, shoving pleasure into the ravine! This shame shook her until she nearly cried, however no tears escaped Misty. She would not allow that wretch Remington to see her weep, he'd think himself to be the source and she'd rather suffer the strain of holding back a dam then grant that vile man even an inkling of satisfaction. Misty settled for an exasperated _huff_, which neither Shard nor Remington reacted too. Then, carefully, she brushed a few leaves from her view and peered through the bush. . .

_ASH!_

Misty's heartbeat pounded with such tremendous force she nearly fell backwards!

There he was!

Ash!

Her fiancé!

Her lover!

The man she promised her life too . . .

Ash was a short distance away, about seven meters, and Misty could not make out his exact facial expression, but, his posture was that of a Charmander who'd just endured a powerful _Hydro Pump _. . . his physical body . . . his mind . . . they were about to shatter together . . . _god, he loved her,_ and if Misty was to die then she knew that Ash would break and he too would become a . . .

. . . Shard.

Misty beat the dam back a second time -- even now she would NOT cry. Instead Misty appointed her eyes with a practical task -- to analyze everything around her. . . _EVERYTHING_. If she ever wanted to be in Ash's arms again she had too memorize the terrain. Should Fate offer Misty a chance to run she could not risk tripping on a stone or slipping in a stream of muck. Her life depended on her ability to move fast and flawlessly.

Like herself Ash was dressed in black from head to toe and Brock was standing beside him in similar clothing. Misty was surprised to see Brock, but ever-so-grateful that he was at Ash's side. Brock was shuddering noticeably, even from this distance. Misty did not blame him, he had every right to be frightened -- these Rockets would kill them both without batting an eyelash. As far as Misty could tell Ash and Brock were alone. There were no police in sight. As much as Misty hated to admit it, neither Ash nor Brock was a match for these trained Rocket killers. At best Ash and Brock could defend themselves with Pokemon, and even incredible Pokemon were not always equal to a bullet. Speaking of which. . . Misty now took immediate notice of a _Pokeball_ in Ash's left hand, but not just any _Pokeball _. . . a _Masterball. _

Misty's blood seemed to thicken in her veins like frigid paste. . . she knew what evil resided within that ball. The horrid creature that had killed hundreds. The creature that had killed Professor Oak, Shard's grandfather. Misty's mind cursed Ash – she was IRATE that he had actually brought that terrible BEAST here! But, her heart was warmed . . . Misty knew that _she _was not worth destroying the world for. And Ash knew that too, but he truly loved her so much that he was willing to risk it. Concentrating upon the _Masterball _Misty allowed the cold paste to rush throughout her entire system until it clogged the sympathy in her heart. No matter how much Ash loved her he should not have come here. What the HELL was he doing! Ash knew better! Had the Rockets truly trampled his sprit so atrociously -- reduced him to disparity's rubble? Didn't Ash know that they would kill her no matter what? Didn't he know that he was ending the world for nothing!

_DAMN!_

Shard's hand found Misty's shoulder -- his fingers stroked her, easing her unbearable frustration back to some level of _bearable_ again. Misty focused on the other Rockets: Giovanni, Glare and N.K. now stood before Ash. Even Giovanni had adorned a mask for the occasion, however, he was hanging back, playing the part of a grunt and allowing Glare to play the lead in this operation.

Glare rushed at Ash as though he were selling blond hair dye! Ash actually had to leap backward to avoid Glare colliding right into him. Glare attempted to snatch the _Masterball_ but Ash maneuvered away from her and guarded his precious ball.

With Shard's hand still infusing her with strength, Misty leaned into the bush and listened as hard as she could . . . snippets of the Rocket's and Ash's conversation began to find her ears:

"The ball. Now." Glare held out her hand as though she actually expected Ash to obey.

"It's right here. But I need to see Misty first. Alive." Ash managed to keep his voice cool and controlled. Misty could tell that he was nervous but she imagined that the Rockets just might buy his bold front and_ that_ was imperative. Team Rocket could not feel as though they were intimidating Ash into a corner. The Rockets had to view Ash as being rational and unwilling to compromise beyond the promised terms.

Glare cracked a fiendish smile, exposing her flawless white teeth. "K, _Master_, but, then what's stopping us from just killing you and taking that ball?"

"Because you and I both know that it will only open for me."

Glare stiffened but her smile never faltered. She was a professional and dangerously good at masking her intentions. "K, one sec," Glare flipped open her cell phone and at once Remington's pocket began to vibrate.

Remington did not answer it, he didn't need to -- he had heard Glare loud and clear. Remington turned toward Shard, his expression unyielding: "Go!"

Shard nodded and took Misty by the shoulders. Misty did not struggle against Shard, she couldn't. There was a part of her that wanted to kick, scream and run to Ash, but Misty knew such a defiant act would only end her life sooner and possibly jeopardize Ash and Brock's safety as well. Therefore she submitted and allowed Shard to pull her to her feet and then walk her several steps beyond the bushes . . . toward Ash.

Ash's sight became a bronze searchlight, illuminating Misty's own. She could feel his sight – raw with relief and love -- shining upon her heart . . . flickering within her soul. Ash's eyes widened, drinking her image like the essence of life. Misty shivered -- blinded by emotion and wrought with sudden shame -- she felt both unworthy and desperate for Ash's love. Throughout all of these terrible days he had no doubt thought of nothing but her. But she . . .? Earlier this very day Misty's heartbeat had quickened for another man . . . her mouth had sampled divinity . . . tasted _bliss_ upon the lips of Elite Rocket Shard . . .

The bronze searchlight intensified with renewed determination to save her – to marry her. Misty should have screamed for Ash to run. Misty should have proclaimed her love and sorrow. Misty should have confessed her carnal sin at Shard's lips. Misty should have berated Ash for bringing that dammed _Materball. _Misty should have warned Ash that this entire situation was a trap. A terrible ploy. A dreadful con. Misty needed to tell Ash that she was going to die no matter what. Give him a chance to flee! But . . . instead Misty said nothing. Her lips had become tiny pipes of metal -- each magnetizing the other and unable to be pried apart. However, Misty soon realized something else: that it was not her lips which weighed her speech down, it was instead the weight of the young mans hand on her shoulder.

"Misty!" Ash dared a step toward her; his handsome features were bent by Fears crooked fingers. "Misty, _god_, are you okay, baby?"

Misty could only nod and Ash returned the gesture. Exhaling Ash ripped his sight from Misty and secured it upon Glare. Ash's bright devotion vaporized leaving only a grave overcast of malice and loathing. Misty had never thought Ash capable of such a pulverizing stare.

"You give her to me, I give you the ball," Ash spoke like a true Master, but Glare was not intimidated.

"Correction," Glare sneered, casually flipping her ponytail to the side. "_You_ give _me_ the ball. We verify it's even _legit_ this time and then you tell me how to open it. And ONLY then, when that's all done, will you get your red-headed hussy back."

Ash hesitated, but dipped his head in agreement. He glanced once more at Misty then tossed Glare the _Masterball_.

Glare caught the ball with ease and laid a playful kiss upon its top. "N.K., scan it," Glare ordered, sending the ball like a hot-potato toward her associate. The bald Rocket pulled a _Pokeball_ DNA scanner from his pocket and went to work. The device lit up and offered several electronic _beep-beeps. _After a moment N.K. looked up and spoke: "It's da real thing."

Glare leapt in the air like a gleeful Skiploom – she squealed, she spun and she clapped! Misty flared her nostrils; a bystander would think the woman had just won the National Miss Kanto Beauty Pageant!

_Damn her! She knows that creature will kill innocent people!_ _How dare she celebrate like this!_

Ash and Brock exchanged tensely awkward stares, neither knowing quite how to react.

"Wow, this is wonderful!" Glare settled down at last, plucking the _Masterball_ back from N.K. "Ketchum, you hunky, hunky man you! You're not as dumb as I thought after all. Good job," she winked at him suggestively, still giggling. "Shame you're the enemy, I wouldn't mind _rewarding you personally _for your smart decision."

Misty's eyes narrowed in to dangerous slits, if Glare even _tried_ to touch Ash she'd tear out all of her fake blond hair!

Ash only curled his lip in disgust, eyeing Glare like a rotting Slugmacarcass. "You shot Lance, _you bitch_. You have the dammed _Pokemon,_ now give me my fiancée. _NOW_!"

Glare either didn't hear Ash or she was ignoring him:"How do I open it?" she demanded, turning the _Masterball _over in her hand.

Ash pulled a small vile from his pants pocket and tossed it to Glare. "With this. It's my blood. The ball is sensitive to _my_ DNA, my blood, my fingerprint -- anything that's part of me will open it. Once you get it open make sure you have another _Masterball_ handy to keep that _thing_ confined in. You won't want to keep it in this ball or you'll never be able to open it again without me."

"I'm way ahead of ya," Glare plucked another _Masterball_ from her pocket. "Okay then," she turned toward Giovanni and he offered her a subtle nod. Glare grinned, shouting: "Kill Waterflower! Kill her, Shard, now!"

"WHAT?" Brock wailed in absolute horror, his hands balling into fists. "YOU can't DO that!! Ash gave you the creature!"

Ash charged Glare like a bucking Tauros, nearly shoving her to the ground! "LIARS!" Ash roared, he reached into his pocket again but this time retrieved a normal _Pokeball. _Ash threw the _Pokeball _like a grenade and its monster was released within a crimson blaze.

Ash's Charizard materialized, bellowing with fury! Scorching flames blasted from the dragons mouth and smoke swirled from his nostrils. Granted Charizard was rarely in a placid mood, but judging from his extreme rage Ash must have explained their dreadful situation to him before hand.

"Charizard, get Misty!" Ash commanded and Charizard zeroed in on her at once. Charizard's eyes ignited like heat-seeking missiles and he instantly recognized Misty as his long-time friend. The dragon launched himself into the sky and came blistering toward her at his top speed. Charizard seemed _far from_ pleased to see Shard's hands upon her shoulders and Misty knew that the dragon would devour Shard within flames if Ash didn't call him off at once!

Misty was about to yell, but Giovanni beat her to it: "Not so fast!" Giovanni also realized how potentially lethal Charizard was and understood that immediate action was needed to save his son from a fiery grave. With the reflexes of a much younger man Giovanni leapt forward and snatched the _Masterball _and vile from Glare. With practiced ease Giovanni poured Ash's blood on the ball.

Misty felt Shard's grip tense upon her shoulders . . .

There was no turning back now . . .

. . . and before her eyes the _Masterball _exploded into a brilliant blaze of amethyst-terror!

Misty was not sure exactly when sun had begun to set, but she suddenly realized that night had befallen them. Now a nightmarish display of light erupted in the heavens . . . lavender lights sizzled in the sky like grease in a skillet . . . violet scorched her eyesight and shades of plum crackled over the horizon. These mortal colors continued to erupt within the atmosphere until finally the source of their power revealed itself . . .

Misty's worst nightmare.

She had never forgotten that cruel feline face.

Those sinister amber eyes . . . like glowing coals that never burned out. The evil demon, the _murdering_ Pokemon, it was now here before them all. It had again been unleashed upon the world.

The creature was larger than Misty had remembered -- freakishly taller than the average human -- its thighs and tail were solid muscle and his fingers seemed like alien probes. The creature began cocking its head like a curious baby Meowth. It was staring very hard at Giovanni . . . then, although disinterested, the creature decided to skyrocket into the heavens. It moved with unnatural speed, Misty had never seen even a Rapidash with such awing acceleration. Without being issued a command the creature surrounded itself with a glowing force field, the sheer intensity of its light dulled every star in the sky.

"Yes! YES!" Giovanni raised his hands in triumph and bellowed with delirious delight.

Misty at once remembered Charizard! She turned toward the dragon, but, thankfully he had halted in his tracks, wholly distracted by the presence of the creature. Charizard was anxious; he seemed to be anticipating something far more ominous then Shard's hands on Misty.

"Kill the Charizard." Giovanni commanded, grinning.

Without batting an eye the creature gathered his psychic energy and struck Charizard with a devastating attack. Like a stray feather Charizard was plucked from the air and hurled into the night! The huge dragon tumbled as though he were a mere tattered a Poke'doll! Misty screamed as the helpless dragon came crashing into the dirt, impacting the landscape like a meteor! He had landed about thirty meters away. Misty would not have been able to see Charizard at all had his tail not still been burning. At least the fire meant he was still alive, although he was not moving.

Without warning a mighty fist snagged the back of Misty's hood and yanked her backward—HARD! Misty gagged as the fabric pressed against her throat and her balance gagged along with her. The next thing Misty knew she was on the ground, the fist still gripping her hood and jerking her back. Misty saw Shard laying upon the dirt beside her, he was shaking his head, posture woozy. Wheezing Misty craned her neck to see Remington behind her – the source of her near asphyxiation. Remington was yelling at her – ordering her to stand! Despite her lack of breath Misty fought him! She seized her own hood and struggled with all of her might to pull it from his hands.

"L-let me go-o!" Misty gasped, forcing her last reserve of oxygen to form words. When words unscathed him Misty flailed harder – her jerking movements put a Magikarp to shame and Remington stumbled, unable to maintain his grip.

"Bitch!" The Rocket kicked at her, his boot colliding with her stomach and sending her rolling across the ground. Misty heaved -- fighting against vomit -- and somehow managed to scramble to her knees. However, she should have known that Remington was only warming up . . . as Misty raised her head she found herself staring into the barrel of a handgun.

However, Misty also should have known that Shard would die before he'd watch Remington harm her again. . .

Elite Rocket Shard was now upon Remington like a ravenous Houndour! The two men tumbled to the ground in a fearsome display of pounding fists. They grappled with intent to shatter bone! Remington seized a fist-full of Shard's hair and used it to slam his face into the ground. Shard groaned loudly, blood pouring from his nose.

Although she was still short-of-breath, Misty crawled toward the men; she was frantically searching the ground for a rock, a stick – anything that she could strike Remington with! Remington proceeded to bash Shard's face into the ground a second time, however, the second time turned out to be Remington's final lucky blow. Moving with incredible dexterity Shard shoved Remington off of him and quickly mounted his foe -- Shard's hands wrapped around Remington's throat. The older Rocket writhed, gasping desperately as he tried to push Shard away from him. But Shard's fingers were locked in a determined death-grip . . . his hands were secured in position and Misty knew that Shard was going to crush Remingtion's throat like a paper cup!

A few meters away Glare began shrieking: "SHARD! TRAITOR! DAMN YOU SAHRD!" She rushed the two men and raised her own pistol . . . aiming it directly at Shard.

At first Misty thought that a thunderstorm had broken across the sky – the booming eruption was so deafening that she was certain she'd been struck by lightning. When pain failed to sting her Misty realized that there was no storm at all. Instead, the ear-shattering sound had been that of a gunshot.

Misty stared hard at Shard . . .

He was unharmed. Instead it was Glare who was on the ground. The blond Rocket was curled upon her side, wracking in terrible pain. Glare's left hand clutched her right arm and her shoulder leaked a thick crimson liquid.

Both Shard and Remington ceased their grappling – wholly startled, they released each other and joined Misty in watching Glare squirm upon the dirt like a butchered Weedle.

Now Remington began to shriek: "N.K.! What the hell? You freaking shot her? YOU FREAKING SHOT GLARE!"

Misty's sight pinpointed the bald Rocket. He stood, unwavering in the darkness with a smoking pistol in hand. At N.K.'s side stood Giovanni and he did not look surprised or upset in any way. . . Misty stiffened, realizing that Giovanni must have given N.K. the order to take Glare down.

Giovanni now turned toward Remington. "_He_ has also lost control, disable Remington too."

Without a glimmer of hesitation or remorse N.K. pulled his trigger a second time -- he was like a killing machine and Giovanni had just pressed a lethal button. The gunshot was just as deafening the second time.

Remington wailed in agony as the bullet tore through his flesh. The Rocket clutched his left thigh and collapsed. The ground was immediately stained by his sticky gore.

Misty suddenly remembered that Ash and Brock were present in this nightmare. The two young men had been temporarily frozen by shock and confusion, but were now glancing at one another, completely horrified by _whatever_ was going on between the Rockets.

Team Rocket's creature was still hovering in the night sky, content to simply observe the gruesome scene below it. The creature seemed only mildly interested in the bloodshed, its amber eyes were wide . . . it seemed partially distracted by something else, but Misty did not doubt that it would join the terror at Giovanni's first command.

Misty held her breath . . . in this moment the creature seemed temporarily distracted; the Rocket's manpower had been slashed in half and she was still alive! THIS moment could very well be her one and only chance to escape – her ONE opening to run like hell! To flee for her life. To dash straight into Ash's arms! So what if the creature killed them all, if she ran there was at least a chance she could die with Ash's arms around her. She missed him so much . . .

And so Misty ran.

Only, she did not rush toward Ash . . .

An innate compulsion possessed her being and Misty could not deny it. Misty Waterflower ran to Elite Rocket Shard.

_Her Rocket._

He was on the ground.

He had been injured during his brawl with Remington.

Blood trickled down Shard's chin from his nose but he did not seem to notice it. His attention was latched upon Glare and Remington -- shot by N.K. and yowling in pain. Misty knelt beside Shard, wiping away his blood with her sleeve. "Shard?" she did not try to mask the concern in her voice.

Shard turned to her, his face but a breath from her own. "I'm okay," he whispered. Misty felt his hand in her hair, stroking her bangs from her eyes. "Misty," his tone sharpened and he pointed toward Ash, "don't miss your chance to escape. When I tell you to run, you RUN. Got it?"

Misty only nodded; shuddering as his hand left her hair . . . somehow Misty just knew that Shard had touched her for the last time.

As though responding to another mechanical cue N.K. marched toward his fallen teammates and proceeded to scoop up Glare's nearly unconscious body and take her back toward the Rocket's parked cars.

While the Rockets were distracted Ash and Brock had decided to retaliate. A very familiar Pikachu and Onyx suddenly appeared on the scene. Both Pokemon were hurling rocks and electricity into the darkness, trying with futile effort to strike the Rocket's creature from the sky.

"Ash are you CRAZY?" Misty's screeched. "They're NO match for that THING! Recall Pikachu before he gets killed!"

Ash shook his head at Misty, indicating that she was wrong. Had Ash truly gone INSANE? He may wield the worlds strongest Pikachu but his mouse was no match at all for a creature as diabolical and powerful as the Rocket's feline fiend.

From the sky the creature easily dodged Pikachu and Onyx's grandest assaults as though they were ping-pong balls thrown by children. Giovanni laughed with amused pity and pride.

"Well, this is pathetic, _Pokemon Master._ Honestly," Giovanni stifled another burst of laughter. "It's been an entertaining warm-up for my Pokemon, but all good things must come to an end. N.K.," Giovanni glanced toward N.K. who was returning from placing Remington's injured body inside the car. "I want you to kill Miss Waterflower. Now."

Ash and Brock gasped loudly – aghast beyond words -- but their cries were swiftly muffled when the Rocket's creature began yelping in mysterious pain. The creature began to sway woozily in the sky . . . then drift . . . downward with no more stamina than a falling leaf.

Ash watched the creature's freefall with strange anticipation – he was not at all surprised by the Pokemon's abrupt illness, in fact he seemed to be expecting it.

"What's this?" Giovanni huffed -- dismayed as his creature fell to the ground like a discarded stone. The creature was no longer shining with purple strength but rather it had become pale and feeble-looking like a melting candle. With its feet upon the soil the creature began convulsing violently – it was entirely unable to even stand, let alone levitate.

"This isn't my. . ." Giovanni's words dissolved and he turned a dangerous, accusing scowl upon Ash. "It's a clone! An infected, dying clone!! N.K.! KILL MISS WATERFLOWER!"

Shard's hands were upon her back now, shoving her forward.

"Misty, run to Ash! NOW!"

This time Misty Waterflower did run to Ash. Her muscles screamed in agony as she pushed them for more speed than ever before! Her lungs ached . . . but, no matter how her feet pounded she felt as though she were running through water . . . her best efforts seemed like slow-motion.

Ash was barely three meters away from her now . . . Misty focused on his warm brown eyes . . . the lights to guide her home to saftey. . . his arms were out stretched. . . in a moment they would be together again, at last. . .!

But . . .

From the corner of her sight Misty saw something that made even Ash's eyes fade away into the bleak world around her. What she saw made her halt in her tracks and go stumbling into the dirt.

Giovanni himself held a gun now and his gun was aimed at her. Like Ash Giovanni was barely three meters away. At this range Misty knew that the Rocket mastermind was not going to miss.

Upon her bruised knees, spotlighted by moon, Misty accepted the fact that she was about to die. She faced her murderer. She did not cry. She did not plead. Ash was yelling, Brock was screaming and even Pikachu and Onyx were blaring with fright. But all four were helpless to aid her. At this close range, not even Pikachu was quick enough to zap a bullet.

Giovanni cocked the trigger and the gunshot resounded like an atomic bomb. Misty felt nothing but her hands as they collided with the ground. The dirt was moist and cool beneath her nails . . .

And now a mighty scream tore through the night air – it was a scream bred to tatter tranquility and vanquish hope.

But it was not Misty's scream.

This agonizing scream belonged to Team Rocket's boss.

It was fight or flight time for Misty and she quickly propelled herself to her feet. She had not been shot but. . . Giovanni HAD been!

The vile man had been shot in his left calf and his knee was buckling, pulling him downward into the same cool dirt. Only, Giovanni was not interested in feeling dirt. The man was seemingly wrought from iron and somehow -- despite the blood spewing from his leg like a busted sewer pipe -- he remained on his feet.

Instinct guided Misty's sight behind her toward the edge of the ravine. _There!_

History has a scornful way of repeating itself. Giovanni was surly thinking: _like mother like son_. The final stage was set and Shard was destined to play the leading role . . . he stood against a dramatic backdrop of night -- the sky, once hued like ocean water was now darker than a pool of tea. Shard stood upright—his posture bold and unrepentant – the perfect killer that Giovanni had molded him to be. Shard's firearm was smoking in his hands, and, his expression announced to one and all that he was about to fire again . . . only, this time, he would not be aiming for Giovanni's leg.

"No! Shard, don't kill him," Misty heard her own voice -- she tried to hush the words but they battled her lips and forced their way free: "he's your fath-!"

_**BANG!**_

This bullet was intended to kill.

This bullet stuck its victim square in the chest.

This bullet was fired _by_ Giovanni.

And this bullet was lost someplace deep within the cavity of Elite Rocket Shard's chest.

What does it mean to suddenly lose all sensation? What truly happens when a human is anesthetized beneath a surgeon's knife? The person is not dead, just unfeeling, insensitive . . . dull. As a halo of gore bled through the _R _on Shard's white uniform Misty became completely numb, unfeeling, insensitive . . . _dull_. Self-induced anesthesia -- it was her minds defense mechanism against insanity. In this moment Misty could feel nothing, hear nothing, nor move. Even her thoughts processed as though churning within a vat of glue. Misty's eyes seemed to be her only sense left intact . . . and so, she watched Shard and noticed that -- beneath the moonlight -- he was beginning to look unnaturally pale. The color was draining from his face . . . Misty thought this very odd. Was, perhaps, the night breeze somehow carrying his color away? If so it aught to take away the splattered red finger-paint on his shirt too. Shard now swayed like a wilting plant and then he stumbled backward. Misty frowned inwardly -- apparently the night wind was stealing his balance away as well. Shard's lips parted and trembled, _god, _he was beautiful . . . Misty thought that perhaps he wished to speak, but it looked instead as though he were . . . gasping? But that didn't make any sense . . . and he made no sound that Misty could hear. She decided to concentrate on those lips of his, _oh,_ what sinful fascination seized her, but Misty could not look away . . . she'd tasted them, she'd savored their sultry essence and she'd relished in their pleasures . . .

_Wait! _

He was . . . gasping . . .? _No. . . . what . . .?_

No more were Shard's heated breaths destined for Misty's mouth. His lips had room only for liquid now . . .

Thick scarlet juice . . . dark grape juice or maybe cherry syrup . . _. _or, perhaps even, raspberry liquor . . ._ there_, it was dribbling from Shard's lips. But . . . it no longer looked sweet . . . it seemed instead to be a gruesome liquid -- more like fluid rust or a fleshy pulp. The red fluid dared to slide down Shard's chin and then it spilled freely upon his uniform, wholly ruining it. Didn't his uniform use to be white? When did he change to burgundy? No matter, how dare such filth think itself worthy to so freely maneuver across him!

_Oh god, no. . . . wait . . . no. . . NO . . . that's not syrup. . .or rust . . . that's. . . that's. . ._

The frost dulling her eardrums suddenly melted away. It was in _this _precise moment that Misty realized that Shard was gagging. Loudly. He sounded as though he were drowning; only he was far from any water. Shard could not breathe, only, somehow he remained standing. Misty also stopped breathing now, but somehow, she too remained on her feet.

Arms enfolded Misty. These arms hugged her body so tenderly, so desperately. Warm kisses were upon her face. Misty ignored them all . . . her sight would not leave Shard.

"DAMN YOU! BETRAYING ME! After all I've done – after everything you're still JUST LIKE HER!" Giovanni fired his gun again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Misty's brain began to count . . .

**BANG! BANG! BANGBANGBANGBANGGG!**

She registered ten shots – rhythmatic and carnal like a beating heart.

With each shot Shard was jolted backward one step at a time. Misty felt her arms pushing Ash aside -- she felt her legs racing toward the ravine. . .

Shard was staring at her -- even through that mask she knew he had eyes only for her. Misty also knew that Shard was falling backward . . . about to embark on the final freefall of his life.

"NOOOOOOO!" the scream tore from Misty's throat, scorching her vocal chords like auditory flame. She dove for him! She reached! She stretched out her arms – her fingers! Then she landed on the ground.

Shard disappeared over the edge of the ravine. He would fall more than eighteen meters. Misty knew what awaited his body at the bottom – jagged rocks and a raging river.

Behind her N.K. was scooping up his injured boss and hightailing it back to their car. Giovanni appeared unconscious, probably due to blood loss.

Ash and Brock chose to let the devil escape in order to save their angel. The two men rushed to Misty's side and she thrashed against them, furious for their lack of a rescue attempt for Shard! Misty cried loudly, frantically pointing to the river below.

"SAVE HIM! Oh my god, he's afraid of water! Oh my god, he's so afraid of it! PLEASE HELP HIM!" she wailed on -- her knees centimeters deep within a warm pool of Shard's blood.

Ash only held her, stroking her hair and kissing her head. Misty knew he was touching her but she could not feel him. "Misty, it's over. They can't hurt you anymore."

Brock threw his arms around them both, he was sobbing. Misty heard the Rockets car speed away. Her sight would not waver from the wild, powerful rapids and sharp rocks below . . . her sight searched the area frantically but there was no sign of Shard. Whatever remained of him had already been sucked below the tide and whisked away.

"Those bastards can't hurt you anymore," said Ash.

"You don't understand," tears blurred Misty's vision but still she looked for her blue-haired Rocket. "_He_ wasn't hurting me. _He saved me_."

"I'm sorry, Misty," came Brock, who was already on his cell phone, undoubtedly dialing the police. "There's no way that Rocket survived all those gunshots, let alone the fall. Let's just be grateful he did what he did, you would be dead otherwise."

"Maybe they'll find his body?" Ash offered, lifting her limp frame into his arms. Misty was far too weak to fight him, dizziness threatened to smother her consciousness and she knew she'd be unable to resist sleep much longer. "It doesn't matter anymore anyway," Ash kissed her forehead. "You're safe, Misty. We're together."

Misty shut her eyes, begging her brain to make her numb again. As Ash began walking, a beckoning darkness began to swirl around her and Misty longed to lose herself within it – to lose herself wherever that river had taken Shard.

_Maybe they'll find his body?_ Ash's words echoed in her mind, but Misty already knew they were hollow.

The police would never find his body.

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Author's Note: Holy smokes school is over and I actually had time to update! I am so happy right now! That, my good readers, was the last official chapter, HOWEVER the epilogue is still to come (c'mon, you don't actually think I'd just end the story like THAT do you?!)! I do have a very cool gift / surprise for you all though. Fanfiction author / artist, lili neko, has created COVER ART for SAVING SHARD. Find it on Egoshipping Central or her DA page, both links found on my bio page. Thank you for being so patient with me and for reading this far. I will complete this story ASAP, but I need your reviews to get me there. So, please take just a moment to leave a little review, it would mean the world to me. THANKS AGAIN! Best, Maia's Pen


	12. Monsterlogue

**Authors Forward Note: **The Definition of Epilogue:_ In literature a short chapter or section at the end of a literary work, sometimes detailing the fate of its characters._

Well, guess what – heh-heh- this isn't short. In fact the word "long" would not do justice to this monster of a finale for Saving Shard. I have discovered that I am apparently completely unable to write a short ending to a story. Ever. Therefore, so as not to spit on the official definition of "Epilogue", I am creating a new word and that word is "Monsterlogue".

The Definition of Monsterlogue: _In literature, particularly Pokemon Fan Fiction written by Maia's Pen, a chapter of such extreme length it may as well have been broken into 3-4 separate chapters, however it was not. This chapter is at the end of a literary work, sometimes detailing the fates of its characters._

And so, my reader friends, I invite your imaginations to embark on the final segment of Saving Shard – I invite your imaginations (and retinas) to experience the workout of their life – I invite your imaginations to take a ride on the Monsterlogue! (Btw- it's recommended that you are in a comfortable chair and have a full days ration of food & water handy, tell your parents what you are doing so that they don't worry when you do not surface from your bedroom for hours. Novice readers may want to pace themselves, perhaps divide the Monsterlogue into quarters and read over the course of several days, Kthxbye.)

**BOTTOM LINE:** Do NOT complain to me about the length. You have the choice to read this in one sitting, two, three, four or more. That is entirely up to you. You have been forewarned, I obviously alreday know it is long, don't tell me about it. The segments are broken up clearly with my "0o0o0o0o0's" so you should have little difficulty leaving the story and then picking it back up where you left off. Also, I am human and typo's are going to be present here and there. If you spot one, please copy and paste the entire sentence with the error into your review. If you do not do that I will have to disregard your complaint as I will not know where to find the error. The same goes for any/all parts that you may find an error with, please copy and paste the bit into your review and thoughtfully explain what you think the error is, otherwise your complaint is invalid and I can do nothing with it. If you do not have time to formulate a proper review i.e: kindly explaining what you liked or did not like and **specifically why**, then please return at a date when you have more free time to do so. If you have time to actually read this juggernaut-of-a-fic then you should be able to spare an extra minute to formulate a proper review. For tips on writing a PROPER REVIEW feel free to read the Reviewer Etiquette 101 section on my profile.

Seriously though—to my reviewers: Enjoy! And thank you for giving my pen the push it needed to see this story to its end. I would have given up last year had it not been your words of encouragement. This Monsterlogue is for you all. Maia.

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Monsterlogue

Church bells rang in the distance. These were not chimes resounding from an angelic cathedral. These chimes echoed across the night sky as though clanged by a ghostly fist. Depending on the receiving ear these church bells could be perceived as either somber or as a hymn of bliss -- the same series resonated both at funerals and weddings alike. However, tonight these bells neither rang for Shard's funeral nor for the nuptial celebration of Ash and Misty. These were merely the twilight chimes which rang every Saturday night at the stroke of ten. The chimes were rung by the monks who lived in the mountains surrounding the Indigo Plateau and Misty found herself counting them. The clangs numbered ten.

Ten.

The number of gunshots which had sent Shard over the ravine and out of her life.

Misty flinched upon her pillow and tried to pull the fabric over her ears. After a futile moment she sat up in bed. Ash slept silently beside her with Pikachu curled upon his chest. Doing her best not to stir the mattress Misty stood up and walked toward the window. She pulled the curtain aside and pressed her forehead against the cool glass, allowing her sight full access into the night. A trickle of moonlight bled through the dark sky like milk spilled upon a black cloak – the stain was blatant at first but was quickly absorbed within the darkness. Like a lonely Water Lilly did Misty's sight continue to drift across the evening landscape. Ash's condo was situated on a high hill overlooking the Pokemon Master's battle arena. Except for the morsels of moonlight the environment was no more than a daunting shadow -- barren of vitality . . . just like her life.

Misty never was fond of the view here, she much preferred that of her apartment in the Orange Islands. She wanted to be surrounded by water, not hills and trees. Oh well, her apartment there was soon to become her _former_ apartment. She would be moving out before the end of the month and leaving her job there as organizer of the Orange Islands Water-type training program. Misty would then live fulltime with Ash and start looking for a new job, something closer to the Plateau. These decisions had been finalized a long time ago. The commute from her apartment in the Islands to the _Indigo Plateau_ was more than half a days travel. Ash and Misty could never settle down and build a life if they lived so far apart. Ash could not be expected to give up being the _Pokemon Master_ just to spend more time with her -- that would be completely unrealistic. Misty's job would have to go – it had been her idea. Misty had _offered _to give it up and make the move back to _Kanto_ and she was confident that she would find another job quickly. Ash had often told her that she need not even worry about work -- he made more than enough money to support them both. But Misty could never take Ash up on that offer. If he paid the electric bill then she insisted on paying for water. If he paid for the cell phones then she would take care of their online charges. She was an independent woman, nothing like her gold-digging sisters, and proud of that fact. Misty would pay her share or she would not move in with Ash at all. Although he teased her for being so stubbornly modern, Misty knew that Ash admired this quality within her. He loved the fact that she wanted to be with him simply _to be with him_ and for no other reason. Of course all of these plans had been made quite some time ago . . .

Before she had been abducted by Team Rocket.

Misty continued to stare into the night, wholly allowing coal to seduce jade. It was like peering into the eyes of an _Arbok_ . . . eternally black . . . but Misty was use to this sight. Even in broad daylight THIS is what she saw. Black. Everywhere she went. Every. Single. Day. For two months.

Following her release from the Rocket Base, Misty had spent a few days in the hospital and then the next two weeks at her apartment. She worked around the clock at her job. She had felt an urgent need to catch up on all of the work she had missed while abducted. Her boss pleaded with her to stop working – to go home and rest, but Misty would not. She could not. When her mind lacked an appointed task it would fixate . . . and it would always fixate on _him._

Ash would travel to the Orange Islands and stay with her every single weekend. He was dotting and sweet – always bringing her presents and offering to treat her to hours of pampering at luxury spas. Ash had tried so very hard to understand her pain – her distraction – but now, after two months, Misty knew that he was frustrated with her. She had been . . . distant. Perhaps the word "distant" was an understatement -- Misty had not been intimate with Ash even once since she had been back. Ash would sleep in bed with her and cuddle her or kiss her but Misty would go ridged . . . she did not want to push him away, but she could not loose herself with Ash the way she once could so naturally -- with such raw want and desire. Misty would try to find passion with him – she would try so damn hard -- but she just could not. It was not Ash's fault. Misty was depressed and she knew it. Ash knew it too and per his urging she had begun seeing a psychiatrist – the best and most expensive one in the country.

The root of their trouble was no secret: Ash wanted Misty to stop thinking about Shard and Misty wanted Ash to believe that Shard was still out there.

Ash believed that her thoughts about the Rocket were unhealthy . . . for two months Misty continually insisted that Shard was still alive. Shard's body had not been found. There was zero proof that he was dead. Ash and the psychiatrist told Misty that she was suffering from some sort of mental breakdown syndrome -- Misty could not remember its long technical term -- but the syndrome supposedly had caused her to develop an abnormal sense of loyalty toward the man who had held her hostage. According to the _shrink:_ Misty's captivity was so unbearably horrifying that any tiny shred of kindness Shard showed her was magnified ten fold within her mind and that her memory was warped, _blah, blah, blah._

Believing that he was aiding her recovery Ash asked Misty to watch the video of Shard smacking her around. Misty humored him and watched it. Afterward she explained to Ash that Shard was not really hurting her, but rather pretending to in order to spare her a harsher punishment from another Rocket. Despite her honest explanation Ash did not believe her. Neither did the shrink. Misty decided it best not to tell either of them about Gary Oak. Lord knew what they would think of her mind-state then, plus, she would not betray Shard's secret.

An invisible rope had been tied around Misty's heart and Shard held the other end. She could not move forward until he either let go or decided to move forward with her. When Misty described this feeling of helplessness to the shrink the woman recommended that Misty keep a diary and to write in it everyday. Misty was told to try and remember what had really happened during her captivity – detail for detail – and so Misty did. She wrote about many people and things: Giovanni, Glare, Remington, N.K., the evil Pokemon -- but always about Shard. Her diary was a treasure trove of letters intended for his eyes. This diary was kept private from everyone – even from her shrink -- for it held too many devastating secrets. Both Shard and Giovanni's secrets were penned there as well as the forbidden longings of her heart.

Shortly after her release Misty had learned that Giovanni – the Viridian City Gym Leader – had suffered a heart attack and died. Misty suspected this information was a lie as there was no public funeral for him. But still she kept his secret anyway. She kept it because she knew, in her heart, that Shard was still alive and that any attack on the Rockets might harm him in some way. She knew that these secrets were safe only in her diary . . . sometimes she would even write about other secrets too . . . regrets. Sometimes Misty wished that she had taken Giovanni up on his offer. That she had stayed at Team Rocket at Shard's side. Sometimes she wished that she had taken Shard up on his and run away with him. Had she accepted either then Shard would not have been shot. But Misty did not regret protecting Ash's heart – she never could have been happy leaving him believing her dead.

But she was miserable now -- a part of her resented both Ash and Brock for not trying to help Shard as he fell off the ravine. Both men had water Pokemon on their person but neither thought to release one and send it after the injured Rocket. Misty was taken directly to a hospital from the ravine and it took hours of screaming before Ash had the police begin to look for Shard. There were other fights between them too . . . Ash wanted a body guard to follow Misty around every time she left his apartment. Misty was adamantly against that idea. She agreed to carry Pepper Spray and agreed never to go anyplace without a Pokemon, but she would not give up her privacy. Ash was paranoid about her safety constantly, if she did not call him every hour on the hour he would send Officer Jenny to check on her. Ash meant the very best, but sometimes Misty felt more trapped now then she had in the Rocket base.

Ash desperately wanted her to accept the fact that Shard was gone and, in attempt to put her at ease, last month he had hired a team of private investigators to scour the river for Shard's body. After weeks of searching they turned up nothing. Both police and investigators assumed Shard's remains had been devoured by wild Pokemon. Misty did not believe that. Granted she had no explanation of how he could still be living, but, a part of her could not -- would NOT -- believe that he was truly gone.

How could Misty prove that the night sky was black? That the ocean glistened blue? All she knew for certain was the feeling inside of her heart.

Misty abandoned the window and walked to her dresser drawer. She pulled out her diary and a pen. Not wanting to disturb Ash or Pikachu she took these items downstairs into the kitchen. There, situated upon a barstool, she began to write. As always the first word she penned was _Shard._

0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0

The fire was burning out. Misty's touch – once hot with love – now could only singe with sorrow. Misty's eyes – once playful flames -- had faded to regretful embers. Misty's smile once ignited his soul, just a grin and his entire world was set ablaze with passion. Now he barely remembered what her smile looked like -- it was only a shadow cast by the dimming cinders of their future. Misty's face no longer soothed him with tender warmth -- sometimes she would attempt to smile for him, but this forced heat was miserable -- a scalding, agonizing heat that blistered his heart. Misty touched his face with the same fingers but they did not belong to him anymore. He tried as hard as he could to refuel the fire with his own love, but he was no longer enough. He could not provide the kindling to keep her soul aflame and, if something was not done to reignite Misty soon, she would burn out. Completely. If that happened then not only would the woman he loved be gone, but Misty would cease to be Misty – the best friend he had adored for his entire lifetime.

As Misty's footsteps vanished down the stairwell Ash's eyes blinked open. He sat up in bed, Pikachu rolling down his chest and onto the comforter.

"Pi?" the mouse yawned, his dark eyes foggy with sleep.

Ash stroked Pikachu beneath the chin with one hand and sighed into his other. "It's okay, Pikachu. Go back to sleep," Ash whispered.

Pikachu eyed his master skeptically but soon did begin to doze off.

Ash's sight was fixed upon the bedroom door. He knew where Misty was going and what she was doing. She was going downstairs to write in her diary. Again. Like she did every single night for nearly the past two months.

Ash shook his head, he missed her . . . Misty had not been the same woman since she had been released from the Rockets. Instead of planning their future she was obsessed with finding the fallen Elite Rocket. The Rockets falling shattered an emotional mirror within Misty and Shard was the one missing sliver of broken glass that she needed to be complete. Without this sliver everything the looking glass reflected would be distorted. Misty was incomplete.

Sometimes days would pass where she would not mention his name and then, out of the blue, something would trigger his face within her mind and Misty would become engrossed – fanatical upon the insane notion that he was still alive and hiding out in the world somewhere.

Well, Ash knew for a fact that the Rocket was dead. Ash had SEEN him take ten bullets in the chest and plunge more than eighteen meters into a rocky ravine. Ash could not understand why Misty cared so much about the Rocket's fate. Ash questioned her dozens of times as to why. He was worried that the Rocket had done _something _to Misty . . . what, Ash didn't know, nor was he sure that he wanted to know. But Misty claimed that Elite Rocket Shard was kind to her and protected her. Ash did find it odd that the man had shot his boss to protect Misty – and Ash was grateful—but he did find it odd. Still that did not erase the fact that Ash possessed a video of that exact Rocket physically beating Misty.

What had gone on between them? Whenever Ash accused the Rocket of doing something to her Misty became irate with him. At times she would even yell at him—blame him for not trying to somehow rescue Shard from his watery grave. At the time Ash was overwhelmed with joy at being reunited with Misty again – that she was even alive – the last thing on his priority list was risking the life of one of his Pokemon by sending it into the river after that Rocket's corpse. Reflecting, had Ash ever known that the lack of such an action would cause him eternal scorn from Misty he would have jumped in after the bastard himself.

The night Misty had been rescued she was a nervous-wreck. She spent two nights in the hospital undergoing tests to make sure she had not suffered severe physical punishment or been exposed to any deadly diseases. When she was released from the hospital she wanted to go straight to her apartment in the Orange Islands. Ash took a week off of work to stay with her; this was their first moment alone since before her abduction. He had missed her so much! Naturally his first impulse was to take her into his arms to kiss and become intimate with her —and, at first, Misty kissed him back and told Ash that she loved him. Ash desperately needed to be close to her, to feel that she was okay, that their love had endured this nightmare – as his fingers worked to unclasp her shirt buttons Misty suddenly shoved him away. She shoved him like a charging _Rydon_ into a _Bellossom!_ Ash had actually fallen on his backside. Misty apologized profusely but insisted that she could not be intimate with him. When Ash questioned this Misty would not respond. Logically Ash questioned if she had been victimized in someway? Misty was horrified by his question and insisted not. Ash backed off the topic but he still had a hard time believing that. Why else would she not want to be with _him_ – her fiancé? As the weeks past it seemed like the more questions he asked the father Misty pushed him away. Although she rarely raised the topic anymore Ash knew that she still harbored anger toward him for "letting Shard fall". Ash tried to be understanding and patient and sensitive and all of the things that Misty needed him to be. He was trying as hard as he could! But . . . he was also only human, and what human could not feel unbearable frustration from such an impossible situation?

Ash just wanted HIS Misty back. He missed her and he could not be happy again unless she was. The girl he had loved all his life – the fun loving and spirited water trainer -- what had happened to her?

Ash may have rescued her body but her soul was still locked in that Rocket prison. Ash feared that only the fallen Shard held the key.

When Misty had agreed to see a psychiatrist Ash finally experienced a glimmer of hope . . . he began feeling confident that this doctor would somehow magically bring _his_ Misty back. But two months later she showed little improvement, she had only learned how to better hide her emotions. That was why she was writing now. At night. When she thought that Ash was sleeping. They could not talk about Shard without a fight ensuing and so Misty wrote about him instead. Ash knew that she wanted to spare him watching her agonize over the fate of the Rocket. But Ash also knew that she WAS agonizing. Daily. Nightly. Always. Misty was miserable and Ash's heart was breaking . . . he could not stand to see her suffer like this . . . and so needlessly! Sometimes Ash wished that Shard's body would just be found already so that this nightmare could finally end. If only there was a way to make Misty understand that this man was not worth her agony and heartache?

Ash stretched and rolled out of bed. Pikachu was instantly alert and running in circles at his feet. Ash fumbled into his _Snorlax_ slippers and he and Pikachu headed downstairs to find Misty.

She was right where he expected her to be – at the kitchen counter scribbling frantically in her diary. Ash respected Misty's privacy and had never once peered within the pages, but he was curious. He wondered what she was writing night after night after night . . . Well, he knew that she wrote about Shard . . . but he wondered about the details and he wondered what about himself – did Misty write about HIM too?

Misty's hair was pulled back into a high ponyta-tail and she was wearing a baggy white nightgown with the graphic of an _Umbreon_ on the front. She looked very cute and Ash had to thrash back the impulse to hug her . . . a few months ago she would have welcomed his embrace anytime. Now he had to be careful; he had to keep a comfortable distance so as not to startle her. She startled very easily these days.

Ash cleared his throat: "Kinda late to be burning the midnight oil, huh?" he walked over to the freezer and pulled out three ice-cream sandwiches.

Misty's head snapped upward, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes wide with surprise. She quickly closed her diary and set it to the side. "I'm sorry, Ash, did I wake you?"

"Nah, my stomach was growling. You want one?" Not waiting for an answer Ash tossed her one of the ice-cream sandwiches. Pikachu took another and scurried back upstairs with his treat.

"Thanks," Misty fiddled with the wrapper. "You're really hungry again? I thought you had a big dinner with Brock?"

"I did. But I'm hungry again. You know me." He smiled weakly, his dark eyes catching hers: "I miss you, Mist."

Misty's cheeks tightened, her eyes were like wild emerald flames – it was as though they desperately wanted to be tamed – to be cooled—to settle upon his own, but they could not. "I know. . . I'm sorry Ash, I can't help it."

"Can't help it? Really?" Ash struggled to keep his tone controlled, but he was failing quickly. "Then why didn't you just stay in bed?"

"I couldn't."

"You couldn't? Why couldn't you? If you have nervous energy why didn't you ask me get up to go for a walk? To talk . . . anything that would have included me!" Ash's hand was suddenly dripping ice-cream; he looked down to see the sandwich crushed in his hand. He let it slip to the floor, uncaring about the mess or cold.

Misty went ridged and stood up. "I'm going back to bed now."

Ash raked his fingers through his hair. His hand was trembling. "_Fine._ Right when I get out of bed to join you, YOU want to go back. What did I do to deserve this? I can't stand it. I – I – dammit, I love you, but. . . I need to go. I'm going out."

"But it's almost midnight!"

"Pika! PI! PIII!" Pikachu was now standing between them squeaking frantically – he hated it when they fought.

"C'mon, Pikachu, I'm sure Lance won't mind if we crash on his couch."

Ash was sure to slam the door behind him.

0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0

Why didn't Misty try to stop Ash from leaving?

She should have rushed into his arms.

She should have hugged him and kissed him and LOVED him for being there for her. For loving her when she in no way deserved it.

But Misty did not do any of those things. Instead she stood in the kitchen and watched him go.

Misty could not unbuild a barricade that she could not see or feel.

Moisture lingered in the corner of her eyes . . . What was wrong with her? Why was she letting Shard come between her and Ash? Was Shard really to blame? He was not even here to defend himself . . . and that, Misty knew, was the problem.

Misty walked over to the freezer and placed her ice-cream sandwich back in the box, then picked up the crushed one from the floor and threw it away. Wiping tears from her cheeks she clicked on the small portable television set which rested on the counter. The 24 hour news station was on and Misty deemed it worthy back round noise. She needed some form of company and she had just chased away two beings who would have been thrilled to provide it.

Turning to her greatest confidant Misty picked up her diary again.

The news station played an exciting string of music which meant that a special report was about to be announced: _"This is Angi Porter reporting live from Ra'Tala Island where, at the stroke of twelve, a new Sweel exhibit was just unveiled to the public. Island visitors will be treated to such activities as a Sweel petting zoo, dozens of Sweel merchandise vendors as well as live Pokemon battle shows everyday. . ." _

Misty's eyes were glued to her diary page but her ears were entirely focused on the reports words.

_"Cruise ships will launch from Fuchsia City everyday this week at 9AM for those wishing a direct root to the Sweel fun! Seating is limited so arrive early.__ Until next time, this is Angi Porter signing off from Channel 6 News." _

Misty dropped her diary.

Misty herself dropped to the floor and landed hard on her backside.

Misty could not breathe, but it had nothing to do with her fall.

_Ra'Tala Island. . . Sweels. . . Ra'Tala Island. . . Sweels. . ._

Gasping, Misty scrambled to her feet and stared at the t.v. as though it were a bright pink _Politoed_. The news anchor was gone and a commercial for _Great Balls _had taken her place but Misty knew what she had heard.

_Ra'Tala Island. . . Sweels. . . Ra'Tala Island. . . Sweels. . ._

Misty's memory suddenly launched her on a wild gyrating plummet into its most coveted depths. As her mind spiraled uncontrollably it pinpointed upon ONE specific moment in time that she shared with Shard . . .

. . . he had given her a scientific journal and inside was a postcard that he used as a bookmark. The postcard was a souvenir from _Ra'Tala _Island. Shard had told her that the Island lay south of the Orange Islands. He had told her that his family had vacationed there when he was small. When Misty had asked him if he might go back there one day he had replied:

_"Rockets don't get vacations. __But__ in my next life, definitely."_

_in __my next life, definitely._

_in my next life, definitely._

_in my next life, definitely._

She could still hear his voice . . . regretful, yet jesting in her ears.

But there was more her memory wanted her to see . . . Shard had also been quite taken by news of the remarkable new _Sweel Pokemon. _He had told Misty that _Sweel's_ were real and she hadn't believed him, of course, Misty now knew that _Sweels _were a very real Pokemon . . . and she recalled that Shard was very interested in them, he knew all about them before she did . . .

_Sweels and Ra'Tala Island . . . in my next life, definitely._

Misty's shrink had once told her that she had the potential to suffer from an unsteady compulsion. A compulsion, the shrink had explained was a psychological and usually irrational force that makes somebody do something, often unwillingly. Misty smiled wryly at this and fully embraced her compulsion. She allowed compulsion to overwhelm her at its fullest force – flooding adrenaline into her veins and causing her to rush upstairs.

Misty began searching for her passport and suitcase. Tomorrow morning at 9AM she would be boarding one of those tourist boats in _Fuchsia City_. Tomorrow morning at 9AM she would be on her way to _Ra'Tala Island _to find Shard.

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"Lance, I don't know what to do. She's still obsessed with the idea that this _Shard _Rocket is still alive. It's like. . ."

"It's like what?" Lance asked, handing Ash a beer and Pikachu a ketchup packet.

Ash scoffed loudly, leaning back into Lance's couch. His friend had warmly welcomed himself and Pikachu inside his home despite the late hour and had even treated them to drinks, ketchup, potato chips, a comfortable seat and an open ear. Ash scratched the stubble on his jaw and continued: "It's like she's in-love with him or something."

Lance shook his head defiantly, his red spikes swaying like flames. "That's crazy and you know it. Misty has loved you her entire life, Ash."

"Yeah, yeah, you're right. But then, I dunno, then what's wrong with her?"

"Pika pi." Pikachu offered, ketchup staining his yellow face.

Ash nodded, agreeing with his electric mouse. "Yes, Pikachu is right. She's not Misty anymore. Lance, I want MY Misty back. What the hell did those Rockets do to her? What did that Shard do to her? Who the hell was that guy?"

The Dragon Master took a mighty swig from his bottle of Cinnabar ale. "I don't know. But the shrink-"

"Psychiatrist." Ash corrected.

"Yeah, but the _psychiatrist_ thinks she'll get over this, right? It'll take time, Ash. God knows what kind of hell Misty endured there, both physically and mentally. For some reason she identified with that blue-haired criminal. Like the psychiatrist says: things were so awful that any shred of sympathy Shard showed her was magnified ten fold in her memory, right? One day Misty'll remember how cruel he really was to her and then things will get back to normal."

"He did die protecting her though. . ." Ash trailed off, this fact always set him on edge . . . he was thankful Shard sacrificed himself, but the Rocket's motivation perturbed him. How close was this guy to Misty if he was willing to die for her? Ash shuddered, keeping these inklings to himself.

"Doesn't matter," Lance barked as though reading Ash's mind. "He was a dammed murderer, Ash. Look," Lance removed an envelope from his shirt pocket and tossed it toward Ash. "I was going to give you these at work tomorrow. I pulled in a government favor today and had them sent. I figured they could help you with the Misty situation."

Ash opened the envelope and emptied out a stack of photographs. There were a good dozen photos scattered across the coffee table and each depicted a blurry, black and white, but recognizable image of Elite Rocket Shard. The photos were dated and raged over the course of the four most recent years. Although the timeframes were different the scene was the same – Shard was caught in a crime. In one particular photo he was stabbing a knife into the back of Vermilion City's late governor who he had killed last May. In another Shard was looking directly at the security camera and grinning . . . his expression was smug, dripping with some screwed-up sense of self-righteousness. The blood from his victim was splotched across his face but he did not seem to notice, or perhaps he did not care. Ash could not pry his sight from this particular picture . . .

This Shard was a young man – no older than he was. He looked so . . . cocksure . . . so arrogant about his vile deed. That haughty grin . . . it was haunting . . . it was disturbing . . . it was. . .

"Hey, Lance?" Ash blinked, handing Lance the photo. "Do we know who he is?"

Lance shook his head. "No, and without his body we never will."

Ash was quiet.

Lance cocked his head. "Why?"

"Oh, I dunno. . . he just. . . I dunno does he look familiar to you?"

"Of course he does! He's in ALL of these pictures. KILLING people!"

"Yeah, it's just that smile. . ."

"Disturbing, I know. The bastard was so damn smug. I can't understand how Misty, such a sweet girl, could defend him. Ah, poor thing, they really messed with her head."

Ash exhaled wearily and finished of his beer.

"Here," Lance handed the photo back to him. "Keep it. Show it to Misty. Maybe seeing Shard in his true glory will snap her out of this?"

Ash frowned doubtfully. "I don't know. . ."

Lance folded the picture between Ash's hands. "I'm no shrink, but I think it will help."

"Pi!" Apparently Pikachu agreed.

"Alright."

"You going to be okay, Ash?"

"Yes, as soon as Misty is happy again." Ash cracked open a new beer.

"You really do love her."

"So much," Ash laughed bitterly. "So much that- _ah,_ forget it."

"What?"

"You're gonna think I'm nuts, but sometimes I wish that bastard would turn up alive just so that Misty would be happy again."

Lance raised an eyebrow. "No, I don't think you're nuts."

"No?"

"I think you're drunk. Give me that!" Lance snatched the beer from Ash's hands. "Lightweight Ketchum gets no more!"

Ash laughed. He could always count on Lance to make him feel better. "I should go. I'm just gonna walk, so don't worry about calling a cab. I should talk to her. Not let our fight stew all night long."

"Show her the photograph."

"I will, thanks. For everything."

"Keep an eye on him, Pikachu."

Pikachu gave Lance the thumbs-up.

0o0o0o0o0oo0 0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0

Ash and Pikachu slipped quietly into the kitchen. The digital stove clock flashed 3:00 AM. Misty was no longer present which meant that she was upstairs sleeping. Ash held a finger to his lips indicating Pikachu to remain quiet. Pikachu nodded, but then scampered over to an object laying on the floor beside the bar stools. Whatever the object was Pikachu became immediately fixated upon it. Curious, Ash joined Pikachu to see what had ensnared his attention.

It was Misty's diary and . . . it was wide open.

Ash felt as though his limbs had turned to granite – he was cemented in place. He urged himself to just walk on past it . . . _just keep moving, Ketchum!_ But . . . just as the stone coating his limbs began to crack did his eyes begin to stray.

Misty had drawn a picture – but this was not just any drawing – this was a rather realistic pen sketch of her masked obsession. The Rocket, though clothed in the same standard uniform, looked nothing like the killer in the photograph from Lance. Shard was smiling in Misty's sketch but it was a nice smile . . . a shy smile . . . the smile of a good person, not a killer.

Ash's impulse control shattered along with the rock encasing his limbs and, despite Pikachu's urgent tug on his pant leg, Ash picked up the diary. The Pokemon Master's eyes quickly began to scan Misty's familiar handwriting:

_Shard, I know that you are still alive but nobody believes me. Not even Ash. I wish that I could tell him about you but I know that would be a bad idea. I know how ungrounded my feelings may seem but I miss you. I think about you all the time. I can't stop seeing you fall down that ravine. I see it every time I close my eyes. You did save me, Shard, just like you promised. Sometimes I wish that I had fallen with you. I don't wish that I had died, but that I had simply landed wherever you are._

_ I know that we really only knew one another for a few days, but Shard, you changed me. We are two sides of the same coin just flipping through the air and never landing. I want to move on. I want to have hope. But I can't. Without you I feel hallow. I am a horrible shell of the Misty I am supposed to be. I trust in you and I know that you are still alive. Why you haven't found me yet, I don't know. But I know that you can't be dead because I see the pain in your heart every time I look in a mirror. I'm not afraid to cry, Shard, and I have. I had to watch you fall out of my life as quickly as you came into it. Not knowing where that river took you will haunt me until I find you._

_I need you to know that I love Ash. I have always loved Ash and, for a long time, I thought that he needed me. But now I'm only hurting him more and more everyday that he has to watch me yearn for your fate. I now know that Ash doesn't need me. I know something else too, Shard: I know that YOU want ME to think that you don't need me either. But you do. If you didn't then my reflection would not be so wretched – so lonely. I know now that we need to see each other again. I need to see you and I need for you to fill this empty void inside me. I'm so tired of being a hallow shell. I'm so tired of longing for you and feeling you long for me. You know where I am, but I have no idea where you are. But I do know that Ash deserves better than this. God, I do love him. Of course I do. But Shard, I . . . love you too. Does that sound crazy to you? I told my shrink that I loved you and she said that you 'represented kindness when I had none' and 'that I only loved the idea of kindness, not actually you'. If you ask me she's the crazy one though. She says I don't need you. If I don't need you then why can't I stop thinking about you, dreaming about you, longing for you? Longing to be in your arms again. Why can't I stop wishing that I had never pushed you away when you kissed me? _

_I'm not stupid -- I know the situation you must be in. But, if nothing else, I need to know that you're okay. Until I know that for sure I will continue to exist as this hallow shell. Wrong or right, I need to know. Wrong or right, I fell in love with you in that Rocket base. I always believed love had to grow and be groomed over time. Now I know that the purest love sprouts within you and you have no control at how it grows or feels. Someone once told me that: It is when you are not looking for love that love finds you. My love for you is insatiable and painful and beautiful and real and I need it as much as I need to find you. I need to know that I truly did save you, Shard. As long as I know that you're okay I can go on with my life, even if that means without you in it._

Ash slammed the diary shut. It became a scalding _Charizard _scale in his hands and his fingers trembled – it was agonizing to hold it, but he would not let it go. For months he desperately needed to know the true source of Misty's heartache – her depression – she would give him answers . . . he never liked her answers, he heard Misty speak but he failed to LISTEN to what she was saying . . . he thought she was loosing her mind . . .

Ash pressed the diary against his chest - his heartbeat wailed violently against it—his heart wanted to pound the diary – break it . . .

He felt so hot . . . so terribly hot . . . sweat dribbled down his brow, his nose . . . his forehead – had he been stricken with a flu? He was not even sure that he was breathing . . .

Despite the anguish Ash pressed the diary harder into his chest . . . it was like a curse had adhered the thing to his hand.

Pikachu was squeaking frantically at his feet. What was Pikachu saying to him? Ash looked up . . .

Upon the stairwell was Misty. She was holding a suitcase and staring at him. Her sight was fastened to _her _diary in his hand.

Ash regained control of his lungs and breathed deeply -- confusion and anger waging a great war upon his handsome features.

Misty's stare seized his in a blaze of azure fury. "Ash! What are you doing here? I thought you went to stay at Lance's?"

Ash was not intimidated by her temper as he once was -- instead he overwhelmed her fury with a rage of his own. He blatantly ignored her question and pointed to the suitcase. "You were going to leave? Where are you going with that suitcase, Misty?"

Misty bleached slightly. "I have to go to someplace."

Ash stormed toward her like a _Whirlwind Attack _and tore the suitcase from her hands. "WHERE? Where are you going? To find _Shard_?"

Misty nodded, completely unfazed by his anger. "Yes. I know where he is."

"Dammit!" Ash threw her suitcase to the ground, nearly cracking it. "He's DEAD, Misty! That blasted KILLER is dead!"

"No he isn't! Shard is not dead!" Misty crouched down and snatched her suitcase from the floor.

Pikachu was hiding behind Ash's legs, trembling.

Misty continued -- her volume sure to rouse every _Pokeball_ in the house: "I know where he is! Please, Ash, understand that I have to go-"

"Why?" Ash sliced her words. "Because _your heart told you where to find him? _Because you _LOVE_ him? What the HELL?"

"Bastard!" Misty shoved him backward. Ash gasped, tripping over Pikachu and landing on his rear end. Misty had wailed on him far harder during spats in their youth – this shove did not injure him . . . just startle him considerably.

"You read my diary! That's private! HOW COULD YOU!"

Ash quickly climbed to his feet, rubbing his sore backside. "It was an accident—you left it wide open on the floor. You NEVER leave it out anyplace. It's like you wanted me to see it. I only read the last page anyway . . ."

Misty shook her head, entirely distressed she turned away from him. Several moments sizzled by in silence before Misty spoke: ". . . You're right, Ash."

"What?"

She faced him – her beautiful face was so still, so . . . sad. Ash's breath hitched in his throat, it tortured him to see her like this – so broken . . . he wished that he could hold her again, that his arms – his lips – could somehow ease her pain, put her back together. But Ash did not bother to try. He now knew that saving Misty was something that he could never do.

Misty continued: "Maybe I did want you too read it. I don't know. So now you know. I damnwell fell in love with him, okay! I'm . . . I'm so sorry, Ash . . ."

Tears filled her eyes and Misty buried her face within trembling hands. "But Misty, he's dead," Ash's voice was naught but a whisper.

"No!" liquid sorrow erupted, smoldering down her cheeks like clear lava. "Shard isn't dead. I know that he's alive. Ash, I promise I'll be back soon. I have to look for him. I have to try."

Shard's image burned continually within her eyes, blackening her view of all else. Ash knew that he could not clear the smoke, so instead he reached forward and touched Misty's cheek, gently smoothing her tears away. "Am I going to loose you to a ghost, Misty?"

Her lips parted but no words came.

"I already have though." Ash answered for her, a sad smile pulling his lips. "Okay, what the hell, go. I won't follow you. Just promise me something?"

". . . Of course."

"Tell me where you're going, call me to check in AND promise that Misty will come back. My Misty – not the one standing here now."

". . . of cour-"

"No," Ash interrupted, his somber smile becoming severe. "Really, _really _promise me that my Misty is still in there someplace and she can come back. I know that you aren't going to find Shard, but I pray that you'll find yourself. I love a girl I met nearly fifteen years ago. She was full of life. She smiled. I just want to know that that girl can come back, no matter what it takes. I can't pretend to understand why you fell in love with that Rocket or why you are so sure he's still alive. But if chasing a ghost helps you heal, in some small way, I want you to go."

Misty reached forward and took Ash's hand in her own. "Thank you, Ash."

He nodded, trying to hinder his own tears. "Here," he handed Misty the envelope with the photograph of Shard from Lance.

"What's this?"

"It's a picture of Shard. The real Shard. Not the one you think you love."

Misty eyed Ash cautiously. "No thank you." She retuned the envelope. "Unless you saw his eyes you never saw the real Shard."

Misty leaned forward now, her lips gently grazing his own. Ash stiffened . . . he did not return the kiss, he merely accepted it. Just has he had to accept Misty's need to go.

"I'll be in _Ra'Tala Island," _Misty offered him a faint smile._ "_I don't know for how long, but at least a few days. Goodbye, Ash . . ."

Misty pulled her diary from Ash's hand, where it lay over his heart, and took it with her.

Ash exhaled as Misty shut the door behind her. He picked up his shaking electric mouse and kissed him on his furry yellow head.

"Let's go to sleep, Pikachu."

For the first time in a very, very long time Ash had seen a glimmer of his Misty again.

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_Ra'Tala Island _was spectacular. It truly was the tropical Island getaway promised in Shard's postcard. Beaches framed the island as far as the eye could see -- the sand was so white it looked like crushed pearls and the water so blue it looked like liquid sapphires . . . just like Shard's eyes. _Ra'Tala_ was a small Island but bustling with diverse people and exciting places. The Island took about ten hours to reach by boat from _Fuchsia City _but it was well worth the trip. The locals referred to _Ra'Tala _as the 'island of eternal sun' – it experienced a nighttime of only four hours. Yet, even here, in the land of eternal sunshine Misty was still staring into darkness.

Misty's had docked on _Ra'Tala _three days ago. She was staying in a modest yet touristy motel directly on the southern coast. The view from her room window was nearly identical to the scene on Shard's postcard – tropical trees, waves and sun. This made Misty smile -- knowing that she was seeing something that Shard once loved . . . she only wished that she could share the islands beauty with him.

Misty spent at least eight hours a day walking the island from shores to markets in search of Shard. On the first day she scoured the central market and shops. _Sweel_ displays decorated every shop window and Misty just knew that Shard would love it here . . . one particular shop sold the latest issue of _Water Pokemon Monthly, _it featured the _Sweel _and Misty bought it for Shard, just in case he did not have it yet. She had begun her quest by asking both locals and tourists alike if they had seen her young man . . . however, when they asked her for details on his appearance Misty did not know how to respond . . . she knew that he was about six feet tall, lean, muscular and very handsome. But, other than that she knew nothing for certain. Was Shard's hair still blue? Or had he perhaps dyed it again? Maybe he had black hair like Ash now? Maybe it was red like Lance's? Was it even spiky still? Maybe he had cut it short? Or even shaved it off? Were his eyes blue or had he covered them with tinted contact lenses? One woman asked Misty what his name was and even that question she could not answer. She dared not utter the name 'Shard' but she was clueless as to what other possible alias he might be guised beneath.

After questioning several people and getting absolutely nowhere Misty decided it best to just look for him herself. She trusted that her heart would recognize Shard even if her eyes did not.

Although _Ra'Tala_ was not a large island it _was_ dense. There were buildings piled within the center and the outskirts were covered with scattered cabana cabins. It would take Misty weeks to search it all. The task was daunting but she was determined to try. She had to.

On the second day Misty decided to wander the beaches. There were four public beaches on _Ra'Tala _and two private ones (which she had managed to buy her way into). However, Misty was disgruntled to see that all six beaches were occupied mainly by blissful honeymooning couples. Everywhere she turned joyful pairs were walking hand-in-hand or kissing out in the waves. One couple was even getting married beneath the sunlight on a high rock. The sight of these romantic duos caused guilt to chafe at Misty . . . in all rights she should be here with Ash . . . and then guilt further assaulted her because she really just wanted to be here with Shard.

Her imagination wondered: what might it be like to stroll hand-in-hand with Shard down the beach -- the warm sand in their toes as the sun set upon their backs? She knew how he feared water, but maybe he would dip his toes in just for her? Maybe one day she would teach him how let go and swim with her . . . how wonderfully romantic it would be to kiss upon the Island of Eternal Sun! Misty could still remember how Shard's hand felt within her own – strong enough to crush bone yet tender enough to smooth tears from her vulnerable skin. His simple touch could send shivers of terror through an enemy and shivers of passion through her. Shard was powerful and intimidating and beautiful and . . _. where was he?_

She refused to believe that Shard was merely an apparition in this islands memory.

Today was the third day and Misty decided that she would go back into town, but this time she would visit the live _Sweel _performance shows. Maybe there was a chance that Shard would also attend or show, or, it was even possible that he was working at one – with his advanced Pokemon knowledge Misty could easily imagine Shard working as _Sweel _trainer. There were three _Sweel _shows being offered at the aquarium battle arena today – noon, four o'clock with the last at eight. Misty bought tickets to all three. She was fascinated by the _Sweel's _so much that she knew she would not tire of the same show three times. In between shows Misty planned to dine at the aquariums café and tour the various water Pokemon exhibits.

Although she had not found Shard yet, Misty was starting to find something else . . . the sparkling hint of enjoyment in life again. She was alone, no shrink, no Ash, no pesky sisters, no one to tell her what to do or how to feel. She spent her days dabbling in pleasurable activities and feeling the warm sun upon her skin. For the first time in months Misty was beginning to relax. She had turned her cell phone OFF the moment she arrived on the island.

However Misty now remembered that she had promised Ash she would check in. Misty had been so busy she had completely forgotten to call. Biting her lower lip Misty pressed her phone ON. She knew that there would be dozens of voicemails from Ash and her sisters – probably from her job, her landlord and her shrink – but Misty planned to ignore them all and simply call Ash. Just tell him that she was okay and turn the phone right back OFF.

The phone rang several times before Ash picked up:

_"Misty?"_ he sounded surprised but clearly relieved.

"Hey, Ash! Sorry I haven't called. I've been really busy."

_"You sound great. How are you?" _

"Oh, I'm doing good. This island is just beautiful. And the _Sweel _exhibits are out of this world."

_"That's awesome! Don't forget to bring me a souvenir!"_ Misty could almost see him grinning over the phone, she laughed.

"I've had my eye on a little _Sweel _action figure for you. It sprays water when you squeeze it."

_"I want it!"_

"Haha! You know, you could fill it with ketchup and let Pikachu play with it too."

_"I want it!"_

"Okay." Misty smiled against her phone. "I have to get going, the next _Sweel _show starts in a few minuets."

_"Have fun,"_ Misty knew that Ash meant it. _"I really hope everything is going good, Mist."_

"It is."

_". . . You find what you're looking for?"_

"Not yet."

_"Well, take as long as you need. But don't start seeing ghosts, Misty. Ghost are ghosts, they can't come back to life, you know?"_

Misty sighed quietly, Ash was trying. She could never expect he would fully understand. "I'll call you again soon. Goodbye, Ash."

_". . .Bye, Misty."_

She shut her cell phone.

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Hours later Misty had to admit that the _Sweel _shows were impressive. She had enjoyed each one immensely – she had never seen a Water type Pokemon launch Grass type attacks before. The _Sweel _was a natural marvel. Aside from the _Sweels _trained for the shows and the petting zoo there were no others in captivity. The rest were still wild and open catching season was not to begin until winter time. Misty planned to come back to _Ra'Tala _then and catch a _Sweel _of her very own. Throughout the shows Misty would completely lose her breath each time a male trainer stepped into the arena – she continually hoped against hope that Shard would be one of them. He never was. Her theory that Shard was working behind the scenes as a _Sweel _trainer was squashed along with the demo Pokemon the performance _Sweels _battled.

Still, despite not finding Shard, Misty left the show grinning from ear-to-ear -- a small plush _Sweel _swinging from her right hand a _Sweel _action figure from her left. She felt like a young girl leaving a Poke'carinval again. When her stomach began to grumble Misty decided to take a detour before going back to the motel. She would pop into a small pub which had been advertising their incredible menu of beers and ice creams on banners throughout the _Sweel _shows. Right about now Misty could go for one of each! She was starving and thirsty. Her modest meal at the café earlier was long gone from her stomach.

The pub was called _The Stuffed Sweel Bar and Grill. _It was located just off the beach and was apparently the most popular joint in town! The place was packed. Misty slipped inside and found herself pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with the many other patrons. Wriggling like an _Ekans _Misty managed to squeeze her small frame into an open spot at the bar. She smiled wholeheartedly as her sight absorbed the fun-loving scene around her: every direction boasted a good time! There were people clothed in everything from business attire to bathing suits and all were laughing and dancing about the floor. A live band played in the corner; they had an excellent tropical techno sound. Misty couldn't help but sway along to the beat. There were about twenty tables scattered about the room and all were jam-packed with customers who seemed to be greatly enjoying their dinners and ice creams.

"Good evening, Miss, what can I get for you?" asked the bartender whose nametag read 'Carl'. He ws a kindly looking older man of about fifty years. Carl grinned at her, bobbing his head in sync with the music as he raised a pen to scribble down her food order.

Misty had to raise her voice for Carl to hear her over the music: "I'll have the _Ra'Tala _cream special and the _Sweel Island ale. _Please!"

"Good choices, my dear. Anything for your little friend?" Carl pointed to her plush _Sweel _toy and winked.

Misty giggled loudly and scratched her _Sweel _on the head. "He's going to share with me."

Carl filled a large glass with the ale. "Here you are and the ice cream will be right up."

Misty flashed him a gleeful grin. She set her purse on the counter and took a huge sip from her glass – the ale was delicious! It was a dark ale with tiny hints of lemon. Misty folded her skirt beneath her and kicked off her sandals below the stool. Comfort was suddenly of the utmost importance – Misty planned to enjoy her time here to the fullest existent. For a moment she considered getting up and dancing barefoot about the room with the other guests but, reflecting on her outfit, she decided against the impulse. Not only would she lose her place at the bar but her bright blue miniskirt and white v-neck tank top were unsuitable for dancing. If she got spinning around too merrily then her skirt might accidentally flare up or her top droop down. She was feeling like a free spirit today, but not THAT free!

As promised the ice cream was delivered quickly and Misty devoured it at a rate that would even impress Ash. It was incredible –a blend of vanilla and citrus flavors with a cookie crumble mixed in. Within several minutes Misty had finished both her ice cream and ale. And now she was not only feeling a tad tipsy but a tad hungry for real food as well.

"Excuse me, Carl?" Misty yelled, waving to him across the counter.

"Refill?" he hollered back, eying her empty beer glass.

"No, I'm good with the beer. I don't want to be stumbling down the beach. But do you have any soup specials?"

"Yes, we're serving a fine bowl of broccoli cheddar soup."

The smile faded from Misty's lips . . . this was the same soup flavor Shard had given her in the Rocket base. It was both of their favorite.

"Miss?" Carl shook his head at her reaction. "Do you want some? It's mighty good. I'm certain you'll approve."

"_Ah_, but be careful," came another voice from behind her, "_Often those things we regard as certain can surprise us with their uncertainty._"

Misty stiffened as though her little plush _Sweel _had just sprayed her with ice.

The bartender laughed and began enthusiastically shaking hands with this person behind her. Next the bartender started playfully scolding this someone for daring to mock his prized soup.

"Just kidding, the soup is awesome. Serve us up two bowls, Carl."

And now this someone had just ordered her a bowl of broccoli cheddar soup . . .

The bartender seemed very happy to see this person and went blithely off toward the kitchen to place the order for their soup.

"Nice stuffed toy you got there. I guess you finally believe me about the _Sweels _then?"

Misty could not move.

She simply sat on her stool.

She stared forward at nothing.

She became immediately sober.

Her body went so rigid that even her lips were like stiff thin curls of ice.

Now a warm body maneuvered himself onto the barstool next to her.

Misty somehow managed the strength to shut her eyes and breathe. She took a mighty breath, filling her lungs to their maximum capacity and then exhaled. She did this three times before a modest amount of strength began to unthaw both her body and mind . . .

And then she turned toward the man beside her . . .

He was young, about her age, and bronzed from endless hours beneath _Ra'Tala's _sun. This young man had his hair styled in a wild array of brunette spikes. He was clothed in a pair of light blue jeans which were ripped fashionably at the knees and a white t-shirt which adorned the graphic of some rock band on the front. The t-shirt was fit just snugly enough to hint at the firm, muscular body beneath it. Misty's sight now lingered upon his face . . . he was unbearably handsome . . . she had never seen such a beautiful man in her life . . . and he was smiling at _her_ . . . his smile was welcoming . . . it was confident . . . _very _confident . . . and his eyes . . .

His eyes were bluer than the sea surrounding the island.

His eyes were twin cobalt thieves, each captivating a piece of her heart.

His eyes reflected the desperate blue longings within her very soul.

"Is it . . . you?" Misty was barely audible above the band, but she knew that he had heard her.

The young mans grin deepened and his eyes flared with sapphire anticipation. He reached out his hand and casually took a hold of Misty's. A searing burn spread from her fingers to her face and Misty blushed fiercely, reddening as though a _Magmar _had grabbed her.

"How-how-how-" Misty stammered, her words lodged upon her tongue like cubes of ice.

"Hi, I'm Gary. I believe we met at the _Sweel _exhibit yesterday?"

Heartbreak was a disease that Misty had been slowly suffering from ever since Shard took Giovanni's bullets and fell over the ravine. Her physical body had been spared a traditional death by gunfire, but Misty had often wondered if the rapid gunfire's demise would not have been more merciful?

Gary Oak, she knew, had died nearly ten years ago and yet here _he_ was before her now. Shard had died just months ago and yet here _he _was also before her now. Misty narrowed her eyes, studying every detail of this handsome enigma's face. Maybe this young man was neither Gary Oak nor was he Elite Rocket Shard. Maybe this beautiful stranger was instead his own person, for the first time in his life? Maybe he just had a little bit of the other two mixed in -- enough of Gary Oak to charm and draw her in, and, enough of Shard that Misty immediately knew that she loved this man and she would do anything to be with him.

"Miss, you _do _remember me from the exhibit, right? I was that guy with the dashing-good-looks who sat next to you?"

Misty eyed him curiously, but nodded along with his odd fictional tale of their 'meeting' yesterday. She was no fool, she understood that – for whatever reason— she needed to play along with his strange dialogue. Perhaps he was nervous that the wrong person might overhear them if she were to address Shard by name? Misty was no secret agent but she knew that both the authorities and the Rockets believed him dead -- the wrong eavesdropper could equal his death. For real this time.

Gary's fingers squeezed her own, gently stroking her palm. "Yes," Misty cleared her throat, using every once of self-restraint to keep from launching into his arms and bombarding him with frantic questions. "I-I do remember you. I never forgot."

"Been thinking about me, eh?" Gary winked flirtatiously, slowly pulling his hand from hers. Misty gripped his fingers tightly, trying to protest their removal. He winced at her Tentacruel-like constriction but managed to tug them free.

_"Ow!" _he mouthed.

Carl now returned with two bowls of steaming hot soup. "Oh, look out for him, Miss, he's an odd recluse this one, but a charmer none-the-less!" Carl chuckled.

Misty actually laughed – half out of sheer overwhelming bliss and half out of a bizarre sense of shock that 'Gary' already had a reputation when he should be very dead.

"Thanks for the heads-up, Carl," Misty smiled . . . it felt surprisingly natural. "I kinda had a feeling."

Gary shook his head modestly. "Carl, _this_ is the _only _woman I want to charm." His leg blatantly brushed hers beneath the counter top and Misty could suddenly feel her pulse hammering within every centimeter of her skin.

"Well, she _is _cute," Carl jested. "Enjoy, kids. Eat it while it's hot."

Misty automatically began sipping her soup -- though she was no longer hungry at all. Her sight was fixed upon Gary . . . she did not dare to even blink and her eyes were starting to feel very dry. Misty did not want to risk reopening her eyes and he being gone – vanishing like the ghost Ash had warned her about.

"So, what brings you to _Ra'Tala?_" Gary asked nonchalantly, tasting his soup. Misty found his tanned forearm quite distracting as it moved to pick up the cup and raise it to his parting lips . . .

Misty nibbled her lower lip, finally daring to blink and relieve the agony of her dry eyes. Fortunately Gary was still there when she opened them and he was eyeing her with extreme interest. Misty leaned into him so that he could better hear her answer over the music: "I came here on a search."

"For treasure?" Gary teased and took a large gulp of his soup.

"No. I'm searching for the man I love."

Gary's eyes snapped open wide! As raw startlement gripped him he suddenly began choking loudly on his soup! He reached across the counter and seized a fistful of napkins then coughed and spit the remainder of his mouthful into it. Misty bit her lip again and carefully pat him on the back, trying to discourage his choking. Gary set down the soiled napkins and wiped his chin with another, his eyes were red-rimmed from nearly loosing his breath to a blob of cheese. Misty was blushing fiercely – that was not the reaction she had expected from her confession. She certainly had not come all this way to watch him officially die via soup!

Gary now glanced at her . . . he raised an eyebrow . . . and his sight slid from her face to the engagement ring which she still wore.

He cleared his throat, expression unreadable. "Is your fiancé staying on the island as well?" Gary spoke with calm collectedness; Misty could not at all gauge what he was thinking.

"No," Misty struggled to keep her voice neutral. She was becoming increasingly frustrated with this odd charade. She had a million questions for him – how are you alive? Where have you been? Why haven't you been in contact? What about Team Rocket? Why are you here? What's going on? What did Carl mean you're a _charmer?!_ Misty smothered a small scream – how much longer could she 'play strangers' without exploding? "He's at the Indigo Plateau. I told him that I had to leave. He knows that I love someone else and that I couldn't go on until I found him. That-"

Gary abruptly shot up from his barstool, threw a wad of cash upon the counter and seized her hand in his -- pulling her to her feet and with him toward the door!

"G'night, Carl!" Gary called to the bartender. Misty hardly had a chance to grab her purse! She did not fight Gary as he pulled her brusquely through the thick crowd of dancers, she trusted him, though she had no idea where he was taking her to. She just hoped it was someplace private so they could finally talk!

They exited the pub and entered into a spotlight of sunshine. It was probably late at night but the sun would not set until at least one in the morning. Gary wove his fingers with hers -- his touch was gentle, but urgent, and he continued to walk quickly. Misty nearly tripped trying to match his pace in her bare feet – her sandals were still under the bar where she had kicked them off. The pub was located on a beach, and apparently a popular one, the beach was crowded as though people expected a legendary Pokemon to appear. Misty wanted to start questioning Gary about Shard's fate, but she comprehend that she would have to maintain her self-control a while longer. The discussion was not safe until all strangers were beyond earshot.

Gary began to decelerate considerably as they neared the seashore. The sun hung low on the horizon like a ripe red _Apricorn _-- it cast a glowing shadow upon the water, painting the sea amber. The sand was like volcanic ash between Misty's toes but she relished it. Feeling the heat proved that this was no dream or hallucination – she was truly walking along this shore with her lost Rocket. Gary's fingers never once left hers as they walked. Misty saw the many other couples strolling about around them -- hand-in-hand and kissing -- her heartbeat became even wilder, she squeezed Gary's hand all the tighter whishing that he would never pull away from her again.

Misty and Gary walked in silence.

She stared ahead into the direction they were headed . . . Gary was leading her to a nearby wharf which connected to a series of fancy cabana cabins along the shore. There was an underlying necessity in Gary's steps as he neared these cabins and Misty could only assume he was taking her to one. She was surprised in herself for not demanding answers from him now. How could she just let him take her to some mysterious place without question?

Honestly? Misty no longer cared. There would be time for her questions eventually. For now she simply wanted to savor this precious time with him. She would go anywhere with this man.

Gary's blue sight focused only upon his destination. He did not look at her once as they walked, however, the stroking of his fingers upon her palm became more vital, more intense . . . more intimate. Misty shivered, tremors of pleasure seizing her core. Gary must have felt her shiver because a small satisfied smile tugged at his lips. Misty matched his grin, she could not take her eyes from his face – he was insufferably handsome. Dark lashes framed his bright blue eyes creating the most seductive contrast she'd ever seen. Misty did not miss his mask one bit, she loved his naked face.

Gary licked his lips slowly, almost nervously, and Misty barely contained an impulse to grab and kiss him – she wanted those lips. She needed them . . . she need him to reassure her that he was real, that he was alright – that she was finally complete again. No one had believed her, but Misty had known all along that he had endured. However damaged her heart had been it had never stopped beating. At times it seemed to carry an unbearable burden -- as though it were pounding for them both, and only now did Misty understand how true that sentiment was.

They were now only a few yards away from one of the flashy cabana cabins. Gary reached into his pocket and fished out a key. In a moment they stood at the door of one of the nicer tropical homes she had seen on the island. Gary unlocked the door and in one swift motion he pulled Misty inside, slammed the door shut and pushed her up against the wall! His hands pinned her shoulders back, his knee spread her legs and held her in place!

"Hey!" Misty gasped loudly. Wholly surprised she squirmed against him. "What are you-"

Gary apprehended her words with his lips.

His mouth was against Misty's like a steaming tidal wave – crashing with passion, surging with desire and flooding her mouth with his carnal aching for her. Gary's lips caressed hers with such an urgent need . . . such genuine devotion that it caused Misty's knees to buckle. Gary sensed this and his hands slid to her waist, he gripped her hips, holding her up. His fingers skimmed beneath the lower trim of her top and Misty trembled. The feel of his bare hands upon her stomach was intoxicating -- Gary's fingers moved expertly, tenderly massaging her skin. And now Gary took her lower lip between his own and suckled it with painstaking skill. As he worked her mouth he laughed the softest sexiest laugh into her. A convulsion of pleasure wracked her and Misty's quickly wrapped her hands around his neck for support. Her fingers frisked through his thick hair and, using it to ground herself, Misty returned Gary's tantalizing kiss with all the vigor her lips could muster! She dared to taste him more deeply for Misty could not taste his lips enough. She could not breathe his breath enough. She could not feel his skin against hers enough. She needed the gratifying relief that only his lips could bring her with their pure and undeniable desire.

Misty dug her fingers into Gary's hair more deeply – she was becoming short of breath but did not dare to remove her lips from his. She would give him all of the breath that she possessed. She wanted to breathe all of her life into him if it, in some way, would assure that he would still be breathing tomorrow.

Gary's tongue began flirting dangerously with her own and Misty granted her fingers free range to roam from his hair down his muscular shoulders to his stomach -- her fingers traced the outline of his hard abdominal muscles. Gary's hands strayed further up her stomach, lingering just below her chest. Misty arched her back, whimpering – needing his hands to become as bold as his tongue.

As Misty's fingers continued to venture south she found his belt and took it upon herself to unclasp the buckle. But, abruptly, Gary pulled away from her. Misty gasped – her lungs were desperate for air . . . but not as desperate as her lips were to continue tasting him.

Gary was also breathless and a sultry blush tinted his tanned cheeks.

"I'm sorry," he covered his mouth with his hand, panting as though he'd just wrestled a Machampand won. "I shouldn't have done that. I meant to just frisk you to make sure you weren't bugged, but . . . I just had to kiss you, Misty."

Gary took several cautious steps away from her, his brow creased as his brilliant mind began operating at Jolteonspeeds.

Misty followed him like a stalking Arcanine -- her skin was burning hot and she wanted to keep it that way. Misty covered ground quickly -- closing the distance and grabbing his hand. "I want you too. Don't stop." Misty pulled him in close, trailing small kisses down his throat.

Gary failed to stifle a groan and Misty grinned into the crook of his neck. Her prey surrendered . . . he lowered his face and she captured his lips within her own. Gary allowed her passionate assault on his mouth for only a moment before he turned the tables . . . he cupped her face in his hands and transformed their kiss from one of lustful savagery to that of sweet innocence. His lips cherished hers now – Gary kissed Misty with such thoughtful, gentle yearning that it nearly brought tears to her eyes.

The kiss ended as no more than a mild brush of lips across lips and then . . . he walked away from her.

Misty stiffened as Gary went toward his kitchen and busied himself with boiling a pot of water. She knew that she was blushing fiercely and she forced several deep breaths, trying desperately to control the raging emotions within her.

Her sight began bouncing about the cabin. It was large and completely circular with high domed ceilings. The room had a kitchen area on one side and a living room on another. There were two other doors along the far wall—probably a bathroom and bedroom. The cabin was decorated nicely with an island theme – huge potted plants and furniture carved from native wood.

Another accessory was the presence of firearms. A lot of firearms. Big guns, small guns and several knives. Misty's eyes widened: Gary had at least twenty five different weapons piled upon the couch and flooring. There was also chemistry set bubbling away on his kitchen counter and five_ Pokeballs_ filling a fruit basket on his coffee table.

"Sit down," Gary's voice drew her attention at once. He pulled out a chair at his kitchen table for her. Misty sat obediently and Gary placed a steaming cup of tea in her hand.

Now did Misty's dozens of questions come pounding back. But, before she could ask any of them, Gary had one of his own:

"Misty, I've been following you for two days now -- making sure you weren't a decoy or being followed. And I really, really need to know: why are you here?" He sat opposite her, his eyes pleading for an honest answer.

"Why am I here?" Misty frowned curtly. "Why are YOU here?"

"I'm hiding out," Gary said matter-of-factly and took a ginger sip from his teacup. "The Rockets can't know that I'm alive, Misty. They'd never stop looking for me if they did."

"But you were shot TEN times. You fell off a CLIFF!"

"Yet you knew I wasn't dead. How?"

"I don't know," she replied honestly. " . . . my heart wouldn't let me believe it. Shard-"

"Gary."

"_Gary_, my heart wouldn't let me give up on you."

He held her stare earnestly. His lips were reddened from their vigorous kissing session and this sight made Misty crave him all the more. "I've thought about you, Misty," he confessed slowly. "Everyday."

Misty's heart leapt in her chest, but she stuck to her guns: "Why aren't you dead?"

Gary shrugged carelessly. "Well, quite actually, I should be dead. In fact I partly _was _dead_._"

"What-?"

"Let's just say: heaven didn't want me and hell spit me back out." He smiled lightly, jostling his own spikes of hair.

"I'm serious!"

"So am I. I was partly dead and that's how I survived. Misty, do you remember my grandfathers potion? The one he gave to Lance's Dragonite to takedown the Rockets Pokemon?"

"Of course I do. But you said that NO scientist has ever been able to reproduce his creation. It was too brilliant."

"Well, yes. But I was referring to the _average_ scientist, not to myself. I did recreate it. I had been working on it at the Rockets lab in secret for years. I didn't have any specific plans for it – I just felt like I had to make it, that it would somehow bring me closer to my grandfather if I did. Anyway, I brought it with me when we went to make the trade with Ash on the ravine. After I told you to run I knew that I was probably going to end up taking a bullet to save you. As you ran toward Ash everyone's attention left me and they were instead focused only on you. I took that opportunity to inject the ghost-type property potion into my arm. I had no idea what it would do to me, but I knew that it had made Lance's Dragonite impenetrable to permanent harm, so I chanced it. And, quite honestly, as Giovanni was shooting me over and over and over again I was certain that it wasn't going to do anything. I fell backward and I remember hitting the water.'

Gary shuddered lightly at the memory. "Then I blacked out. I scarcely remember floating, but not through the water – through the air. I was floating past people and objects at an incredible speed. I had no idea where I was going but I could hear the whispers of people and Pokemon who I knew where long dead. I wasn't afraid though because I remember feeling like my grandfather was with me somehow . . . although I couldn't see him. The next thing I knew I was washed up on a nearby island. I stood up and, amazingly, I had no gunshot scars or wounds of any kind. I had some money in my pocket and used it to secure a boat ride to _Ra'Tala _and check into a motel— I bought brown hair dye knowing that my blue spikes were recognizable. I trashed the top of my Rocket uniform before going public and I burned all of my Rocket credit and debit cards. If I ever tried to access one they would know I was alive. Instead I took a gamble at unlocking the old Oak savings account. Apparently Gramps never changed the pass code after I disappeared. He's been gone for so long I would highly doubt if anyone was monitoring the accounts balance. I bought this cabana cabin with cash and all of these weapons, you know, just in case. I've just been living here with the Pokemon I fell over the ravine with. I'm not working or anything, I can't risk a job where anyone might see me or require my identification, since I have none right now. I do plan to purchase a new identity very soon; I just need to space out my suspicious purchases."

Misty shook her head, struggling to comprehend Gary's brief synopsis of the past few months. "Oh my god . . . you really recreated the ghost-potion. Why didn't you tell me before we got out of N.K.'s car? I've been so worried about you!"

"I tried to tell you before N.K. got into the car. Remember: I told you about the potion? I couldn't risk just flat out telling you I had it in my pocket."

Misty nodded carefully. "I remember. I just would never have guessed anything like that. Oh my god . . . wow."

"Yeah, double wow. Here I am. The living dead." Gary hummed a spooky tune.

"Don't joke!" she slapped the tabletop, spilling her teacup. "I've been worried sick about you, Shard-Gary or whoever you are! Why didn't you contact me? I've been miserable! I've made Ash's life miserable! God, I've missed you so much!"

"I missed you too. So much."

"Then why?" Misty's voice broke; she felt the threat of tears again but berated them back with her lashes. "You could have come to me."

"And done what?"

". . . Asked me to be with you?"

"I asked you that question once before, my dear, and I was rejected, remember? Why would I put myself in the position to be rejected again."

"Kiss me again."

"No."

"No?"

"Yes, no."

"Why?"

"Well for starters: that engagement ring. You love Ash. I know that you do."

"But I also love you."

"I believe you." Gary smiled sadly, his eyes going dim. "But we can _not_ be together."

"Don't you love me too?"

"It's not about love, Misty. It's about safety." He held her sight a moment, regret evident in his sapphire pools. Gary took her hands over the tabletop. "I don't want you to leave, Misty. I would do _anything _to be with you. Give anything –my heart, my life—my everything. But we both know that my everything isn't going to cut it. You have a life of promise – of safety -- with Ash. If you leave him – if you want to be with me—you will be constantly looking over your shoulder. We'll have to run and flee for our lives at a moments notice. I can never go to social events with you or meet your family or even been seen on _Kanto_ again. No one who knew me before – either as Gary Oak or Shard -- can ever see me. What if I was recognized somehow? I'd be thrown in jail or assassinated by the Rockets straight away. A life with me is a life of danger. A life where _you_ would have to give up _everything_. Everything that you love . . . well except for me," he grunted with sour amusement. "Misty, I won't allow it." He dropped her hands and Misty felt as though he had just slammed her heart into a pit of spikes.

"Do you love me?" she pressed.

Gary shook his head, avoiding her stare. "We're not talking about this anymore."

"Whatever I would have to give up . . . it would be worth it."

"Not if the Rockets found me."

"Stop it! They won't find you!"

"But they could. I'm good at hiding but it's always a possibility, Misty. If they find me they'll murder us both and I can guarantee it'll be bloody and painful."

"Not as painful as my life has been without you!"

"That's wonderfully flattering and dramatic, but no."

Misty was struggling to refrain from both crying and punching him to the floor. All of these months she had longed for him and now he was rejecting her! "Why did you kiss me?"

Gary answered her question with one of his own: "What about Ash?"

"I told Ash I went looking for you. . ."

"So he'll know you found me if you appear on his doorstep and tell him you're leaving. He'd hunt me down himself, Misty. I'm a fugitive!"

"No, Ash wouldn't come after us. Not if I asked him not too. He loves me too much."

"_Exactly_, he's not going to let you run off with some murdering ex-Rocket."

Misty stood up, slamming her firsts on the table again. "LISTEN TO ME! I can see the sunshine again. Gary, for the first time since you fell off that ravine, I can really see it everywhere. I'm alive again. I do love Ash. But it's not the same kind of love. I _need_ you. I can not let you go again. I won't. You're a part of me. A part that I need in order to be happy -- to be compete! My life has been empty without out you. Those days with you in Rocket base did something to me. You did something to me, you changed my entire life. I never thought that I could love so deeply or need another person so much that my heart can't even beat right without them. You just say the word and I will be with you."

Gary stood, raising a hand to silence her. "Stop it," he exhaled carefully, glancing to the floor. "You can stay here tonight, in my room. I'll crash on the couch. But you need to go tomorrow and not come back. For both our safety." He met her stare – his was cool and hard like ice. Shard had returned.

Misty trembled. She was unsure how much longer she could hold her tears back. "Fine, Gary, just give up," Misty was also capable of freezing words. "Give up on the first _real_ thing that has ever come into your life. Give up on the woman who loves you no matter what has happened or what will come."

Gary pointed toward a door on the right of his cabin. "The bed is comfortable," he ignored her words, his tone like a hotel receptionist.

Misty nodded. "I'm going, but I want you to read this," she reached into her purse and pulled out her diary. "I've been writing letters to you in here for the past two months. Ash accidentally read the last entry -- keep that in mind when you get to it. And be warned that there are some secrets in there, things that Giovanni told me, things I should have told you sooner but I was selfish."

Gary reached out and accepted the diary. "Okay, I'll look at it."

"Since you're so fond of sayings I've got another one for you, Gary: they say it's when you're not looking for love that love finds you. Goodnight."

She turned and walked into his bedroom.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Misty awoke with a start! Her heart was raging behind her chest! She'd been having a nightmare . . . Shard had fallen off the ravine . . . he was gone . . . and. . .

_Wait!_

Misty glanced at the clock radio . . . 3:00 AM . . . but it wasn't her clock radio . . . or the one in the motel.

She sat up, slightly disoriented to find herself in a strange bed. Now the incredible events of the day came pounding against her mind like a Machop's fist. She was in Shard's bed . . . well, Gary's bed . . . he was alive! He was sleeping on the couch right now! Or rather . . . he was supposed to be sleeping . . . Misty's hopes skyrocketed as she saw the lights on in the next room. He was still awake . . . maybe he was reading her diary like he said he would. Misty held her breath, slowing rising from the bed.

Gary reading that diary was a frightful mixed-blessing. He would read more than fifty letters which she had penned him – some were emotional train-wrecks, others purely expressing her longing and love and some were even slightly . . . erotic . . .

Each was scribbled during her different emotional states over the past two most painful months of her life. Perhaps she was overloading Gary with too many feelings too soon? She knew that he wanted to be with her – he had said so himself – he would give 'anything' to be with her. But what if he did not love her like she loved him? After all, when she had asked him to confess his love for her he absolutely would not. He did not even want to discus it.

Misty's many heartbroken letters were not the only double-edged sword within those pages . . . Misty had also written the story – nearly word for word—that Giovanni had told her. By now Gary would know everything – that Giovanni was his father – that Giovanni had caused his chronic depression and suicide. That Giovanni had arranged for his perfect son to become the Rocket heir.

Misty started toward the bedroom door, nervously smoothing the fabric of her clothing. She held her breath as she walked into the living room.

Gary was sitting on the couch, his posture slumped and nose-deep into her diary.

Misty hesitated . . . in this moment her heart was beating faster than it had been when Giovanni raised a gun to her face.

Gary seemed so intense . . . so focused. Should she disturb him?

Gary's back was to Misty and he did not react to her presence . . .

She took a step backward . . .

This was a bad idea. He was obviously concentrating . . . she should go back to bed, she should leave him be . . . she should . . .

Gary's shoulders were trembling.

Trembling just ever so lightly . . .

Misty took a step forward.

Gary now buried his face in his hands and the impenetrable Elite Rocket began . . . to cry.

His sobs were no more than hushed gasps – gasps which were raw, wretched and drenched in painful heartache. Gasps that he was desperately struggling to muffle.

Misty felt tears in her own eyes.

She went to Gary.

Misty leaned over the couch and gently placed her hand on his arm. Gary stiffened at her touch, surprised that she had come to him. He did not rebuke her and so Misty moved around the couch and sat beside him. She took his hands from his face and interlaced their fingers. Gary looked at her – his beautiful face had become a frozen landscape of despair. He was encased within bitter heartache, besieged by absolute confusion . . . desolate tears stained his cheeks and his lips quivered along with his hands.

Gary's blue eyes truly were a vulnerable sea . . . and emotional, dangerous sea . . . a sea that finally realized that it was wrought from water and ice and could never become part of the land. Never, no matter how much it loved land and longed to join it. The ocean – the very thing he feared and respected all his life—was the very thing he had unwillingly become.

Misty no longer cared if Gary saw her weep and she allowed her own sea to break fully free . . .

Perhaps together they could learn to dive wholly beneath the dark depths? Perhaps together they could endure beneath the cruel waves? Perhaps together Gary could learn to live without the land and discover and embrace who he truly was, no longer fear it.

"C'mere," Gary turned to her, his voice barely a breath. His strong arms wrapped around her and Misty willingly allowed herself to be pulled in with the tide. Gary's heart beat beneath her ear and Misty nuzzled into him.

"So you read it all?" she asked, wiping tears from her eyes.

"Twice," he said, his voice hitching in his throat. " . . . You really love me."

"Yes, Gary, I do." She lay a kiss upon his chest.

His heartbeat quickened beneath her ear. "I have done so many terrible things in my life, Misty, but you prove that I've done something right."

Misty raised her head, facing him seriously. "YOU are a good person, Gary. Elite Rocket Shard and the things that were done -- they are in the past."

"I know . . . and after reading this," he set her diary down on the coffee table. "I also know that my _father_ is to blame for much of it." Gary stiffened, his breath becoming short. He shut his eyes as though attempting to steady his thoughts. After a moment Gary cleared the remaining tears from his face and continued: "I'm a killer but now I'm not sure that I ever had a chance to become anything else. I remember the first time I killed a man. Giovanni was with me, coaching me through it. The man was a hostage, I have no idea who he was or why he was there, but I remember he was young- not more than thirty, and he had bright green eyes just like you . . . they were terrified eyes. He was handcuffed and gagged and standing in the center of a dark room. Giovanni handed me a gun and told me this was my test to go from grunt to Rocket. I was sweating. My fingers were stuff on the trigger . . . but I . . . I couldn't let him know. If I disappointed Giovanni he would have had me killed. Grunts who failed their initiation were never seen again.'

"I was seventeen . . . old enough to know that this was wrong. The man was screaming beneath his gag, trying to plead for his life . . . he didn't want to die. Giovanni placed a hand on my shoulder and whispered:_ between the eyes. That's the best way, shoot him right between the eyes. _I raised the gun and did just that. The man's head . . . it . . . it was half blown off. Blood was everywhere and Giovanni just laughed as the mans body crumpled to the ground. He was twitching and I remember it took several seconds for him to stop. My knees almost buckled, I fought to keep my control despite the bile rising in my throat. Giovanni simply pat me on the back and said: _Nice work. You're a natural, kid. Keep it up and you'll go far in the company. _He said that as casually as though I'd won a goddammed spelling bee. I thanked him for his faith in me and I left. I vomited as soon as I got back to my room. I felt better after that . . . I assured myself that the man must have done something wrong against the Rockets and deserved to die. I was becoming part of the machine; I did what I was programmed to do and stopped thinking. I became an expert killer after that. I saw the ghosts of my victims in my sleep, but soon learned to ignore even them. I just numbed everything out. I became cold when I was told to kill, I had too. It was them or me and I wanted to be the best. I was weak . . . I was weak to allow Giovanni to drug me to begin with, to make me depressed . . . I never had a chance because I was weak."

"I'm sorry, Gary. You're not a machine, you're a human. Giovanni took advantage of you in the worst possible ways, he used you to kill."

"I did kill, Misty. More people than I dare to tell you about . . . knowing this, how can you love me?"

Misty raised his hand and kissed it. "I love the man, not the killer he use to be."

"You saved me, Misty."

"We saved each other."

"Your letters," Gary pointed to the diary, "they were beautiful, Misty. We . . . really do love each other, don't we?"

Misty searched his eyes, smiling with excitement. "I knew you loved me."

"Yes, I do love you. But it . . . doesn't seem possible does it? We knew each other for, what, a few days?"

"Remember what I said earlier in the kitchen? It was a quote from your fath- well, Giovanni: when you're not looking for love, love finds you."

He raised an eyebrow. "We gotta layoff the quotes."

Misty laughed. "Yes, but it's true."

"And it's the only good thing my _father _ever said."

"But it's real and I need you in my life. I can't lose you again."

"Then we need to talk about Ash. Ash would never-"

"He was your friend once, wasn't he?"

"Yes."

"Did you trust him?"

"Yes."

"We tell Ash the truth. Everything. He hates Shard but he loves and misses Gary Oak."

Gary stiffened. "I don't think-"

"We tell him everything," Misty hesitated, she was desperate to make him understand – she was not going to lose him again. "I know that you want to protect me, I know that there are no guarantees about my safety if I'm with you – but that is my choice to make. I didn't have a choice when I was in the Rocket base, and my life hasn't been my own since I've left it. Now it's my turn to take charge. This is my life and I want to spend it with _you_."

"I know, I read about it all, the psychiatrist . . . I'm sorry for what you've had to put up with. They all think your nuts for believing in me."

"I never cared what anyone else thought. I always knew you were alive."

Gary kissed her forehead. Then his expression took on a puzzling frown. "How come you never turned in Giovanni?"

Misty paled. "Didn't you hear that Giovanni died? They say he had a fatal heart attack-"

Gary scoffed, severing her words. "You know as well as I do that he's no more dead than I am. He's covering his ass because you know who he is. So why haven't you told anyone who he really is? I watch the news every night and I've seen nothing about it."

"I've been trying to protect you. I've been afraid that blowing his cover would in turn cause him to blow yours."

"But I'm dead. What would it matter?"

"That's not all . . . Shar-"

"Gary."

"_Gary,_ only I knew that he was your father. I knew you were alive. . . I was afraid that if he also knew that you had survived somehow then he would be more determined to kill you to get back at me for betraying his secret."

"This is so messed up, providing he really was my father and that wasn't just another lie."

"He wasn't lying, Gary, you should have seen him when he was telling me the story about your . . . your mom . . . it was all too real. I'm sorry."

"Wow."

"Double wow."

Gary pulled her back against his chest, his arms embracing her warmly. "Ever since I kissed you, Misty, you had me. All of me. I knew from that moment that I would die for you. I know how selfish this is, but I can't let you go either. If the Rockets find me I will die to protect you again if I have to. I don't want you to leave. I don't want you to be with Ash. I love you."

Misty squeezed herself in closer holding him tightly, Gary was the rope suspending her above a pit of flames. "Tell me you love me again and that you'll tell Ash everything."

"You said that Ash read that last – and _especially potent_ -- diary entry?"

"Yes, he did, by accident. Ash already knows how I feel about you. I care about Ash too much to lie to him for the rest of our lives. I can't tell him that he's my 'everything' when I'm really longing for you. Ash deserves better. There is no easy way here, but I do know that Ash loves us both, he's the most unselfish person I know and he will keep your secret. But we have to tell him because I won't just disappear on him and leave him wondering if I'm dead or alive."

". . . Okay. Call him in the morning. Tell him to come. But if he threatens to squeal I'll have to kill him."

"Gary!"

"I'm kidding."

"Jerk."

Gary ran his fingers through her hair and settled them upon her chin, gently tipping her face up to met his.

"I love you and I'll tell Ash everything. But we'll have to prepare for the fact that he's not exactly going to be elated. He very well might try to turn me in."

"You would die for me and I would be willing to stay with Ash if it meant protecting you, but I don't think that's going to happen. I trust Ash. He's still my best friend no matter what, he'll keep our secret. I just know it."

Misty reached upward and pressed her lips against Gary's. He retuned her kiss—his lips moving torturously slow. A lusty quiver tore throughout her and Misty's fingers began boldly toying with his belt buckle again.

Gary grunted with amusement. "Boy, you just can't wait can you? I read that _one_ diary entry you wrote . . . sounded more like an x-rated romance novel -- me stealing into your bedroom during the night and taking you into my arms . . ."

Misty giggled, blushing furiously. "I wrote that when I was in a _mood_. It was just a harmless fantasy."

Gary squinted accusingly. "Harmless? It sure did _not_ have a harmless effect on my-"

Misty covered his mouth with her hand, laughing. "Speaking of which, I'm curious . . . curious if that big gun you were hauling around Team Rocket was your way of making up for _other _shortcomings."

"Oh, but, don't you remember?" his voice was muffled beneath her hand. "I told you this during our first or second spat that: the bigger the mans gun the bigger the mans-"

Misty pressed her hand harder against his lips, silencing him. "I can't just take your word for it . . ." she unsnapped the button on his jeans and began pulling the zipper.

Gary's hand was quickly upon hers, halting her exploration. "Wait," he said, almost panicky. "I can NOT believe I'm saying this, but: we can't do this yet. We need to talk to Ash first."

Misty blushed, fully knowing that Gary was right. "I'll call him in the morning and ask him to get on the next boat." Misty sighed loudly, slowly removing her hand from his pants. Gary watched her fingers depart with gurgling agony.

"Go to sleep, Gary." She snuggled against him again. "I'll lay here with you, if that's ok?"

"Yeah, it's fine. I'm sure I'll sleep like a Drowzee with your body pushed up against me all night long."

Misty giggled; she felt his lips upon her head. Gary reached for the lamp and pulled the chord brining darkness upon the room.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0

_"Hi, Ash. Sorry to call you so early."_

Ash yawned on the other end of the phone, he glanced at his clock . . . it was barely six in the morning. "It's ok, what's up? How are you, Mist?"

_"I'm fine! I'm so happy here, Ash . . . I could just about burst!"_

"I can tell," he yawned again, sitting up in bed. "I can't get over how great you sound."

_ "Isn't it wonderful?"_

"Must be some island . . ." Ash trailed off . . . there was something different about her. "So . . . um, you come to terms with . . . everything?"

"_Ash, I need you to come here to Ra'Tala Island as soon as you can."_

"What?" Ash was wide awake now. "I mean, of course I will. Mist, everything is okay, right?"

_"Better than okay, Ash. But it's important that you come right away."_ Her voice was still chipper . . . but Ash detected undertones of anxiety. It was the type of anxiety that could be both good or bad or both.

". . . okay. I'll get on the next boat. I'll be there by this evening."

_"I'll meet you at the dock. Thank you, Ash."_

"Mist?"

_"Mmhum?"_

"Are you really happy? Right now?"

_"More than ever."_

"My whole life, Misty, that's all I've wanted for you . . . you know that right?"

_"I know. I love you for that Ash."_

"I love you too . . ."

_"See you later."_

"Do I get my _Sweel _action figure?" Ash joked nervously.

Misty laughed. _"Yup, got it right here. Goodbye, Ash."_

Ash shut his cell phone and picked up Pikachu. He held his electric mouse tightly . . . needing something tangible to hold onto while his mind spiraled out of control.

"Pi?" Pikachu looked uneasy but relaxed and let Ash hold him.

Ash turned to his friend: "Misty's voice said it all, Pikachu. I know that she didn't find Shard but she has obviously found something else on _Ra'Tala . . ."_

"Pika pi?"

Ash shook his head. "No, Pikachu, I'm afraid that she may have found a life without us in it."

Ash layback in bed and pulled a pillow over his eyes. He needed to think . . . there was just something in her voice . . .

Never had Misty sounded so relaxed and at ease . . . she had found something on that island, something that made her come alive again. Ash was thankful to whatever had become the source of her joy, but still, he was nervous. She had gone from chronically depressed to extremely gleeful in a matter of days . . . what had happened? Misty sounded like an entirely different woman than the bitter and confused one who had left.

Ash grunted as Pikachu stomped across his body but he was too consumed by thought to scold his mouse.

. . . it wasn't possible that she had found Shard . . .right? It just wasn't . . . but perhaps she had somehow made peace with his death? Perhaps she had come to terms with everything she had been through? But how? How in so few days had some island healed what two months with the world's best shrink could not?

Ash tossed the pillow aside and raked his hand tediously through his hair. God, he loved Misty. He loved the Misty he had just spoken to on the phone—confident, self-assured, happy – he did not love the one he had been living with for the past two months – depressed, detached, heartbroken. He could not spend his life with _that_ woman, she was not Misty. She made him lonely . . . she turned him into a short-tempered _Granbull._ He wanted his Misty back . . . but a timid voice in Ash's head warned him that when the Rockets took Misty away they took his Misty away from him forever.

In her diary she wrote that she still loved him, but that somehow, she had fallen in love with Shard too. Ash did not know how that was possible, but he knew that it was true. She had willfully given the happiest part of her heart to Shard and when he fell off that ravine he took it with him. Ash would go to hell if he thought that he could find Shard there and take that special part of Misty back, but it wasn't that easy. Nothing was easy anymore.

What had changed in her voice?

What did that island give her that he could not?

Ash wished that he could fix her broken thoughts and heal her stinging heart. But his wishes were futile as Ash had unwittingly become the sharpest thorn on her emotional vine and Shard was the only bloom.

It really wasn't possible that the island had actually given her . . .

_No, no way. _

_He was a ghost. _

Ash took Shard's photograph from his pocket. He'd been carrying it around for days . . . he couldn't stop staring at it . . .

_Great, _Ash scoffed to himself, _now I'm becoming obsessed with him too. What is it about you that gets to people? _

Ash started hard at the photograph: Elite Rocket Shard was just smiling with that horribly arrogant smile. So haughty, so obnoxious . . .

There was just _something _about that smile that Ash could not shake free from . . . it haunted him. It reminded him of someone he knew but Ash could not pinpoint who or why. He put it back in his pocket and pulled his suitcase out from under the bed. At 9:00 AM he would be on a boat to _Ra'Tala Island. _

"Pi? Pi-pi Pikachu?"

"No, I'm going alone, Pikachu . . . and I have a horrible feeling that I'm also coming back alone."

0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0

As the tepid sunrays embraced his face Ash began to smile. He was perched upon the bow of a large passenger ship and having a delightful time leaning over the railing and feeling the sea spray upon his skin. He was less than fifteen minutes from docking on _Ra'Tala Island _now_. _Ash had been on board for several hours, yet he wasn't at all in a rush to leave – he felt as though he were on a mini-vacation. For the first time in a long time he was able to simply be alone. Responsibility had been whisked away on the ocean breeze. Ash had even left Pikachu at the plateau with Lance. Pikachu was not pleased at first but when Lance promised to take him out for lunch and share his condiments the electric mouse decided that Ash would be okay by himself after all -- at least this once.

Ash was wearing a dark pair of sun glasses in hopes of keeping his identity a secret from the other passengers. If one person figured out that _The Pokemon Master _was on board his trip would be ruined. He'd be swamped for autographs and then the media would get wind that he had left the plateau . . . they'd follow him around and Misty would be furious. She really hated being in the limelight and Ash knew that she only tolerated it for him.

So far so good. Ash was keeping to himself on the upper deck and the other passengers were thus far too preoccupied with excitement over soon seeing real live _Sweels _that they were not thinking of anything else.

"Sir?"

Ash jumped like a startled _Hoppip_ as a hand tapped his shoulder. He whirled around to see a cocktail waitress carrying a tray of drinks. The girl was probably about twenty two, a petite attractive brunette who probably raked in the tips from the men on board.

"Um, yes?" Ash asked, lowering his head and hoping she did not recognize him.

"Drink, sir?"

"No thank you."

The girl stared at him.

Ash ignored her and turned awkwardly back toward the water.

"Can I have an autograph? Or better yet – a picture?"

Ash ground his teeth. Damn. She knew who he was! He silently cursed his sunglasses, they'd nearly cost as much a _Great Ball _and for what?

Ash faced her, forcing a ridged grin. "Okay, but only if you promise not to tell anyone I'm here. Listen, I really just need some peace."

The girl nodded enthusiastically and wiped out her cell phone faster than a _Marowak_ can throw a bone!

"Gosh, you're so handsome," she swooned, setting down her cocktail tray and standing next to him. She held out her phone for the photo. "Say _Chansey_!" she sang and a bright flash emitted from her phone.

The girl checked her cell display to be sure the picture had turned out. Apparently she was satisfied because she put her phone in her pocket and grinned. "You're traveling alone? Where's your fiancée? How's she doing anyways? They say she's kinda lost her mind."

Ash sighed, there was no escape. "And I'm about to lose mine," he muttered.

The girl chose to snub his comment. "Well, she sure is one lucky woman. I'd love to scoop you up in a heartbeat. Gosh are you EVER handsome. Even more so in person than on t.v."

Ash blushed; he'd never quite gotten use to female attention. "Thanks." The girl smiled, retrieved her cocktail tray and walked excitedly off.

Ash wondered why his mere presence could delight and impress a perfect stranger yet he failed even make Misty smile.

0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0

Misty was waiting at the dock as Ash's ship pulled into the harbor. He waved to her enthusiastically and she waved back with equal gusto. Ash was wearing dark sunglasses and a festive tropical shirt with shorts. Misty giggled – he was trying so hard to blend in as a casual tourist and not be _The Pokemon Master _for once_. _Considering that Ash was currently by himself and not being swarmed by fans he had obviously been successful with his 'disguise' thus far.

Misty met Ash as he stepped off the boat ramp. He immediately enfolded her within his arms and kissed her. Misty kissed him back quickly before taking his hand in hers.

"Mist, you look great! You're all rested and relaxed." Ash grinned, flaunting his classic boyish charm.

Misty couldn't help but smile back. "I am happy Ash."

"I'm so glad. What changed?"

Misty squeezed his hand. "Come with me."

She led Ash toward a small outdoor café which was situated conveniently just a few yards from the harbor. There were an inviting set of tables outside and Misty thought that Ash would much prefer outdoor dinning to indoor after such a long boat ride. She selected a table off to the side and gestured for Ash to take a seat. "Hungry?"

Ash smiled nervously, fidgeting as though this were a first date. "Okay . . . you don't have to ask me twice. When am I not hungry?"

"Here," Misty handed Ash the _Sweel _action figure she had picked up for him at the performance shows. His demeanor relaxed at once and he snatched it away from her, his chestnut eyes glowed like he'd just received a new _Poke'dex. _

"Thanks, Misty!" Ash squeezed the toy and water sprayed from its nose. "Very cool. Now I really can't wait to see the real thing."

"Shouldn't the _Pokemon Master _have been the first to see a _Sweel_?"

Ash shrugged sheepishly. "I've been a bit lax on my duties lately, I guess."

"That's probably my fault."

"No, Misty, I didn't mean it like-"

The waiter came by and Ash swallowed his sentence. He and Misty placed their food orders.

As the waiter departed Misty handed Ash her diary.

Ash recognized the secret book at once and noticeably flinched.

Misty opened the diary to a specific page – the page where she relayed detail for detail her conversation with Giovanni in regard to the fate of Gary Oak.

"Ash," Misty began calmly. "I want you to read these few pages here. I want you to promise me you'll stay calm and not ask me questions about it here. We'll go someplace private and talk about it after."

Ash nodded hesitantly. He accepted the diary as though it were coated in poison -- quickly grabbing it and dropping it upon the table so he'd not have to touch it again. After wavering for several seconds, Ash looked to Misty; she touched his hand over the tabletop to encourage him.

Ash began to read.

Misty watched his face carefully for any reaction.

After only a few moments Ash's head snapped upward—his eyes were a bewildered russet storm. "Wh-?"

Misty shook her head quickly to hush him and pointed back to the diary. "Finish reading, Ash, please."

Ash did. His eyes never again left the diary pages.

Misty watched as Ash's lower lip began to quiver. . .

Her heart wrenched in her chest as Ash shut his eyes and breathed.

Then Ash began fiddling with something in his pocket, he pulled it out -- it looked like a photograph but Misty did not know what of as the back was to her. Ash's sight flickered back and forth between the picture and the text in her diary several times. Finally he stuffed the picture back into his pocket.

The Pokemon Master covered his face with his hands.

Knowledge is a curiously powerful thing for it can both grant freedom and condiment with one meager fact. One moment yields blissful ignorance and the next is burdened with the morals of hindsight and foresight.

Misty reached across the table and touched Ash's shoulder. He recoiled at her touch -- his expression smashed by the sledgehammer of confusion and betrayal.

For the first time in her life Misty could not read Ash Ketchum. His face, his eyes, his being . . . they were but a slate of dismay.

"Misty, I'm- I'm not hungry," Ash's words seethed like a pussing boil. He stood up from the table with mechanical stiffness and faced her. "It's time for that private talk. Now."

Ash slammed a handful of money upon the table to cover the food they were abandoning. Misty grabbed Ash's hand and, again, he stiffened at her touch but did not try to shake her off.

Misty understood why Ash was upset with her—she had known that Shard was truly Gary Oak all this time and she had not told him. Ash's longest friend had in fact endured all these years and he'd not known. For Ash: watching Shard suffer ten bullets and plummet to his doom was now an entirely different memory. It was not Shard the enemy who fell but it was his old friend instead.

Misty imaged that Ash now wished he had made an effort to save him.

"I have to take you someplace, Ash." Misty said quietly and pulled on Ash's hand. Ash lanced her with a suspicious eye, but shook his head in agreement. "Thank you, Ash, please try to understand why I couldn't tell you before."

"I can understand why you didn't tell me before, what I can't understand is why you showed me THAT now." Ash had been devastated when Gary Oak killed himself . . . and now Ash had to mourn him twice.

"You'll understand soon," was all Misty could offer.

As soon as they were out of the café's earshot Ash halted in his tracks and grabbed Misty by her shoulders, forcing her to face him.

"Shard was Gary Oak!" he hissed, barely containing an outburst. "Oh my god . . . he wasn't dead. He never meant to kill himself . . . _poor Gary_ . . . oh my god, I could have saved him from those Rockets. I would have busted him out of there . . . and Giovanni? _HE_ led Team Rocket . . . _he _was Gary's father . . . he tortured his own son like that . . . oh my god, Misty . . . it's all true?"

"Yes. It is."

"Why are you sharing this with me now? Why here? What happened after you got here, Misty? I need to know now because I can't take any more."

Misty pointed to a cabana cabin a few yards away.

"You'll find out in there. Keep your voice down, keep walking. Let's go."

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Imagine you are stranded beside an active volcano. Imagine that this very volcano is about to erupt. It would be a magnificent sight – a view that many witness in person, but few live to relay. Persons in this situation would experience both anticipation as well as morbid fear, but, also present would be a sense of awe. Many would try to flee for their lives despite knowing their efforts for self-preservation are futile. When have legs ever bested nature? Others would submit, pray for salvation and fall to their knees awaiting deaths burning grip. But, there would be one person who would climb atop the highest rock -- aspiring for the grandest view of the volcanic fireworks. This one person understands and accepts their fate -- it may not seem just nor merciful -- but it is their fate. Their fate to either embrace or loath. By embracing such a fate the swirling lava will not spell doom, but destiny. And, as the scorching molten lava blankets the land, incinerating flesh and rock alike, it will be only THIS single bold soul atop the highest rock which the rescue helicopter can reach.

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Ash Ketchum held his breath.

Misty was spending a painstaking amount of time to simply pull open this cabana cabin's door.

She entered first and Ash followed. He stepped with caution as though fearing the very floor might swallow him whole. Ash's mind reeled as the barbed confessions of Misty's diary snared within his brain. He would not be the least bit surprised if he had suffered a bizarre concussion from the reading experience—Misty's revelations assaulted his brain more vilely than a closed fist ever could.

Gary Oak was murdered before Ash's eyes and he'd done nothing to help him. . .

Nothing.

Ash had been so inundated by relief at having Misty back he'd been blind to the obvious around him. Or maybe he hadn't been blind? Maybe he had seen Gary Oak all along but been too ignorant to recognize him? But then this meant that Misty had also fallen in-love with Gary Oak.

Ash shut his eyes. As strange as THAT was to comprehend it was at least somehow better than her falling in love with some random killer.

A killer.

But Gary Oak was still Elite Rocket Shard and Shard was still a killer. Shard had knowingly advanced romantically upon Misty, Ash's fiancée. It was all too terribly oppressive for his mind to endure.

Why had Misty asked him to come here so suddenly? What was the matter with her? Couldn't she have shown him the diary when she'd gotten back . . .

That was, of course, if she was planning to come back. . .

Ash opened his eyes and allowed his sight leeway to absorb the cabins details. It was nicely decorated and also . . . chalked full of guns?

YES! There were weapons EVERYWHERE! Handguns, assault rifles, sniper rifles, hinting knives even . . . was that a grenade? WHAT THE HELL?

Ash lanced Misty with a horrified stare -- where were they? Where did she take him?

Misty smiled reassuringly but Ash was far from reassured.

"Misty, what the hell-"

"Hey, Ashy-boy, how are you?"

_That voice . . ._

Ghost.

_It's so familiar. . ._

Phantom.

_Oh my god. . ._

Poltergeist.

_It can't be . . ._

Spirit.

_Him . . ._

Undead.

To face such a ghastly sight – to see the restless soul of the brethren you let fall . . .

Ash did not run or faint.

Ash inhaled and faced the demon of guilt . . .

There, from a door along the far wall, a young man was approaching them. He did not look like a ghost . . . he was about six feet tall, lean and muscular with bright blue eyes and long unruly spikes of brown hair . . .

This was NO ghost.

And now did Ash's knees nearly give out beneath him. Misty grabbed Ash's arm and tried to hold him up, but she was failing fast.

"Oh my god . . ." Ash stammered. "It's –it's you!"

Gary Oak – a man who died, TWICE – came waltzing over to him, hand extended. Ash accepted Gary's hand and allowed his very old friend to steady him.

"How are you?" Gary repeated thoughtfully, the smile dissolving from his face.

"I. . ." Ash pulled his hand from Gary's and instead leaned against the wall for support. He looked to Misty, wholly baffled. "What? You died . . .?"

"No," Gary corrected, as he always loved to do. "I re-created my grandfather's ghost-type property potion and injected myself with it a few seconds before I was shot. It caused my body to become partly dead so the gunshots did not affect me long term. Dead flesh can't be killed."

Ash breathed as though it were his final breath. He was desperate to understand what was going on . . . and what it meant for him . . . and . . .

Ash looked at Misty.

Misty was looking at Gary.

Misty was smiling and this smile was radiant enough to outshine _Ra'Tala's _famous sun. She was happier now than Ash had ever seen her before.

_This _was the Misty he loved. The Misty who had disappeared with Elite Rocket Shard over that cliff. And now the woman Ash adored had been suddenly reincarnated along with the Rocket – along with Gary Oak.

"Ash," Misty took his hand and rubbed it gently. "Do you understand now? Why I asked you to come?"

"Yes," he breathed, his eyes darting between Misty and Gary. "I also know that you . . . but does he . . . also . . ." Ash could not say the word _love._

Gary's face stiffened, fully understanding Ash's unspoken word. Gary shook his head, he clearly did not want to hurt Ash, but he was unable to avoid it. "I'm sorry, Ash. I never meant to fall in love with her. I know you two are engaged, I respect that more than you probably know. But I do love Misty. I died for her, Ash, and I'd do it again."

"I – I believe you." These were all words that Ash's lips could assemble. If only his joy could completely eclipse his sorrow . . . but Ash understood that 'if' was an empty word.

Ash faced Gary and steadied himself. He gingerly lay a hand on his old rivals shoulder, gripping him tightly. "Gary, what Giovanni did to you . . . I want you to know that, if I'd known, I would have rescued you. You're a good person, Gary Oak. I know that you never meant to do all of those terrible things-"

"Yes, I did." Gary cut him off coolly.

"What?"

"I consciously murdered every single person."

"But you're sorry-"

"Of course I am. But I was a killer and if anyone comes after me I'll kill again. I wish I hadn't become what I am, Ash. You know me . . . this is never what I wanted for myself. But, thanks to Misty I have forgiven myself. I can't change the past, only accept it."

"Good," Ash hesitated, gathering his wits. "Gary, I'll talk to the police. Once they hear what really happened they'll be lenient. _I'll help you get your life back_. I'm sure they won't put you away for long. Maybe I can get them to grant parole, or-"

"No, Ash!" Misty snapped his words like verbal twigs. "Don't you know what would happen to him?"

Gary tensed. "Ash, I'm not planning to turn myself in."

Now it was Ash's turn to snap: "What do you mean? You have to do the right thing!"

"Ash," Misty cried, her shrill voice causing him to wince. "You know as well as I do that the police will have Gary on death row before next week! That is _if _the Rockets don't assassinate him first!"

"You're right . . ." Ash looked to Gary again. "If you're not planning to turn yourself in then why did you ask me here? What do you want from me? I'm assuming you're not looking to rekindle our old friendship?"

Gary shook his head regretfully. "If only it weren't too late for that. I hope not to rekindle the old rivalry either, Ash. I plan to stay here. To hide out on _Ra'Tala _for as long as time allows. I just want to live, Ash. Live my own life. Not the one Giovanni had planned for me. I just want to be left alone, to try and figure out who _I _am. If the Rockets ever learn that I'm still alive I'll be hunted like a rabid _Tyranitar_."

"So you just brought me here to tell me you want to be left alone? Do you need money or something? Gary, I'll help you in anyway that I can, but . . ."

"No, but thank you," Gary said. "I still have access to the old Oak accounts. They are no longer monitored."

"And I'll see too it that they never are monitored. What else?"

Ash glanced at Misty . . . she was still staring at Gary. The two of them traded secret glances . . .

Ash was no fool. He raised Misty's hand in his. "Misty, I do love you."

"I love you too, Ash. I always have." She smiled sadly . . . all of her words were true. Ash knew that the barb of truth often stabs more deeply than any lie.

It was in this moment that Gary excused himself and walked toward the kitchen. He deemed this time to belong to Ash and Misty alone.

"I'll protect him," Ash whispered, gesturing to Gary. "I'll do what I can on my end. I can produce a news release that his body has been found. Dead. That should take some Rocket pressure off."

"Thank you, Ash. . ."

Ash touched her chin, raising her eyes to his. "You really love him?"

"I love him."

Gary glanced their way and his sight infused momentarily with Misty's . . . her face ignited with absolute affection . . . raw adoration . . . _love._ She never once looked at Ash that way . . . not even on the day of their engagement.

"Okay," Ash breathed, he took her left hand in his. "You know, Misty, there were times over the past two months where I wished that Shard would come back from the dead just so I could see you like _this _again."

"I'm happy."

"Yes, you are. Misty, I have loved you my entire life. You are my best friend. Even though we only dated for a few months before getting engaged, I loved the idea of finally being with you so much that nothing seemed too soon or too rushed. But something had happened too fast -- we both loved each other as children, but we'd not allowed ourselves time to fall in love as adults. We've changed Misty, haven't we? I love you so much, and the thought of losing you breaks my heart . . . but the thought of being with the person you have become–being with the sad Misty for the rest of my life. . . I can't do it. I don't love her. I love the woman I see right now – vibrant, happy and alive. If I can't have _her_," Ash blinked back emotion and gathered all the resolve he had left: "then I don't want her at all." Ash slid the engagement ring from her finger and tucked it away in his pocket. Misty did not try and stop him.

Tears now collected in her eyes like glistening orbs. Some orbs reflected sorrow and other remorse, but there were many that gleamed with gratitude. "I lost myself, Ash, I've made you so unhappy and for that . . . I am just so sorry."

"I know," Ash pulled her into a hug and Misty's spilled her orbs upon his shoulder, infusing him with all of the tender emotions she'd harbored since this mess had begun.

Ash wondered why he was not crying along with her? Indeed his heart wanted to cry . . . but another part of him felt remarkably content . . . this part of Ash was his soul. And Ash was now experiencing an incredible flood of relief . . . this feeling was like icy water upon a burn – it would continue to hurt for a long time, but the water grants fleeting reprieve from the aguish. The water is needed to begin healing.

"I know that you're sorry, Misty. And I want you to know that I'm sorry for not believing you and making you see that stupid shrink. You knew he was still alive and you never gave up on him. That's love and Oak better appreciate it or else."

"I heard that." Gary yelled from the kitchen.

Ash ignored the comment and addressed Gary with a question: "Will she be safe with you, Gary?" Gary approached them, gauging that their personal talk was complete. Ash continued: "I'll do what I can on my end, but, what happens if Team Rocket does somehow find you?"

"They kill me."

"And Misty?"

"They kill her too."

"That's comforting," Ash ground his teeth, "Misty, are you sure you want to stay here?"

"I need to be here."

Ash nodded, he hadn't expected her to say anything else and he knew better than to try and talk Misty Waterflower out of anything anymore. "Okay, not only will I get a media release public that Gary's corpse has been found but I'll also tell the media we broke off our engagement – that you needed time alone to sort out your life. I won't tell anyone where you are. You may even be safer with Gary than you would have been with me . . . so long as I'm Master you'll be bait for my power."

"Thank you, Ash. I am going to go home this weekend and officially resign from my job. And my apartment lease is over soon anyway. I'll tell my sisters that it's my turn to do some world-traveling. I'll be in touch from time-to-time . . . but I won't travel to _Kanto _often. For now I just need to be here. Sort out what I want."

Gary shook his head along with her words. "Ash, we might not linger in one place too long. But Misty will let you know if anything changes."

Ash cupped a hand over his mouth and breathed into it . . . this was it . . . Misty was really walking out of his life and into Gary's. Just like that. It was now or never. If he wanted to fight for Misty's heart then THIS truly was his last chance . . .

But, as Ash stared at Gary and Misty and how they looked at each other he also realized that this was one battle he could not best Oak at . . . nor did he have the drive to try. Not when the prize had already given her heart away.

Ash lowered his head. "I understand. Well, then," he turned toward the door and clicked it open. "I'm going to leave. Sorry for not staying to catch up Gary, but this is all too much, you know?"

"I'll walk you to the dock," Misty said, dabbing at her wet cheeks with her hand.

"Why don't you just walk me to the aquarium? I'm going to stick around for a while. It was a long boat ride, seems like a waste to go right back home. After I go though, just be careful and if anything goes badly, anything at all, I'm always going to be your friend Misty. I'll always be here for you."

"I know."

"Gary, please, just . . ."

"I will. I'd die for her."

Ash smirked. "Again," he corrected.

Gary matched his grin. "Yes, I'd die for her again."

Misty smiled back at Gary as she and Ash left the cabin. They strolled down the beach arm-in-arm.

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An hour later Misty returned to the cabin. Gary was busy polishing his gun collection on the floor, but he quickly stood up to meet her at the door.

"I broke his heart," Misty stated quietly.

"Aw, c'mere." Gary pulled her into his arms, kissing the top of her head. "He really loves you, Misty. Enough to let you go. Ash has become an incredible man. I'm proud of him."

"So am I."

Gary met her eyes. "I love you and I will keep you safe, Misty."

Misty leaned into him, finding his lips and kissing them. "And I'll keep you safe."

"Oh really?" Gary grinned mischievously. "But can you save me from yourself?"

Misty raised an eyebrow. She smirked with challenge and her hands slid down his stomach, gripping the belt of his jeans in a death-lock. "What do you think?"

Gary failed to protest as Misty pulled him toward the couch by his belt. He went along, hands in the air like a helpless prisoner -- completely shackled and chained by love. "Well," he answered: "I think that Elite Rocket Shard-"

"_Gary."_

"_Right_, I think that _Gary_ has finally met his match."

**The End**

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Author's Note: Thank you everyone for reading this story. **A review would mean the world to me.** So please leave one! I worked VERY hard and for zero pay!

I now need to take a moment to acknowledge the band _Nickelback_. Love 'em or hate 'em -- the very first time I heard their song "Savin' Me" the premise for this story vaulted into my imagination. So the next time you hear the song, please think of Misty and Elite Rocket Shard.

Best wishes to you all, Maia's Pen

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P.S. Sorry to repeat this again at the end: Please do NOT complain to me about the length. You had the choice to read this in one sitting, two, three, four or more. That was entirely up to you. You were forewarned, I obviously alreday know it is long, don't tell me about it. Also, I am human and typo's are going to be present here and there. If you spotted one, please copy and paste the entire sentence with the error into your review. If you do not do that I will have to disregard your complaint as I will not know where to find the error. The same goes for any/all parts that you may find an error with, please copy and paste the bit into your review and thoughtfully explain what you think the error is, otherwise your complaint is invalid and I can do nothing with it. If you do not have time to formulate a proper review now i.e: kindly explaining what you liked and did not like and **specifically why**, then please return at a date when you have more free time to do so. If you have time to actually read this juggernaut-of-a-fic then you should be able to spare an extra minute to formulate a proper review. For tips on writing a PROPER REVIEW feel free to read the Reviewer Etiquette 101 section on my profile. Thanks for reading!


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